Summary: After an accident and being in a coma for three months, you finally wake. But the last nine years of your life have been completely erased. You rely on none other than your best friend, Jungkook, to help regain your memories and yourself. But what happens when the truth of your missing time starts unraveling and it isn’t all it’s made out to be?
Pairing: Jungkook x Fem Reader (Detective!Jk x Graphic Designer!OC) side pairing: Seokjin x Reader
Genre: crime au, fluff, heavy angst, smut, romance, darker themes, amnesia au. Best friends to ???
Word Count: 12.4k
Warnings: seriously depressing (for now) swearing, mentions of alcoholism, allusions to cheating
a/n: Hiiiiiii, long time no see!! Sorry for the delay and thank you for waiting. This story is at a depressing point (lol) so forgive me! I hope you guys can enjoy this chapter too 🥺 Well, I hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think! Send an ask if you want to be added to the taglist or just want to chat :]
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An eternity has passed since you’ve last seen Jungkook…a total of six weeks. Each day has gotten equally harder as it has gotten easier. You think it’s just your body slowly getting used to his absence but your mind is yearning. Yearning and hurting.
But there is something that’s also painful like missing your ex-husband—your best friend—and it’s the videos of your life. A life you know nothing of.
If you thought pictures were hard, videos are much harder.
But you asked for this. You asked your parents and your friends to send you old pictures and videos of times you don’t remember living.
You’re seeing pictures of you and your friends in restaurants you don’t know. Bars you don’t know. Concerts for artists you don’t know. Pictures of you in your bedroom, but it’s a bedroom you don’t know.
You have haircuts and styles you don’t know.
In the videos, you hear yourself laughing at inside jokes you don’t know. You’re using vocab and slang you don’t know. You see yourself giggling and joking around with people you. don’t. know. And you feel more like an outsider than ever. Not just to this world but to the girl you see on screen, you are an outsider to herworld.
Perhaps you’ve gotten too use to separating your different selves. And perhaps that makes it harder to unite with them.
Past you is current you but current you thinks of current you as future you.
It’s all a headache to think about.
You know they’re all you but because you’ve kept them separate, it’s somehow becoming the shackles that stops all the you’s from uniting.
And that’s what needs to happen for all of your memories to return. You have to unite 24 year old you and 33 year old you. It’s only your sanity on the line.
Now that you’ve discovered a couple of things, the only way to go from here is to intentionally spark your memories—in any way. You have to. Because you know 33 year old you has started something...
You quickly tear your eyes from the video on screen to take a quick peak towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You’ve visited the attic a few times because of all of the memories that are stored in there.
But those boxes are filled with more than just memories.
Your eyes go back to your phone in hand as your thumb hesitantly hovers over the screen. You know you should move on to another video but it almost feels like you don’t have it in you. You don’t have it in you to stop listening to the sound of your child’s laughter when you can’t recognize it.
You don’t have it in you to stop the possibility of triggering your brain to suddenly remember him.
You finally force your thumb to the screen and you quickly pause it. You take in a sharp breath before exiting the video to scroll through the five videos your mom sent you. You see Haru in all five. And you can see Jungkook in three of them. You chose one where you couldn’t see Jungkook.
But this video of Haru’s giggles feels just as heartbreaking but more than anything, it feels frustrating. Because you don’t know him.
And that feels like an unbearable heartache on its own.
Suddenly, your eyes bounce from the video thumbnails to the text your mom just sent you.
Mom 7:28am
Good morning! We’re our way to the station and should arrive in Seoul around 2pm. You’re still picking us up, right?
You slowly close your already drooping eyes, the moment way too brief before you open them again, glancing towards the living room windows where the obvious sunlight comes through. Another night you didn’t sleep. Your eyes battling your brain. You might get a few hours if you try to sleep now, at the least.
~
“I just don’t understand how you can drink those all day,” Your mother’s eyes go from the knife in her hand to the iced coffee in yours. “I know it’s got to be giving you heartburn.” She laughs a little while shaking her head, eyes going back down to the cutting board where she chops onions.
You blink at your mom before dropping your eyes to the coffee in your hand, “Wait, is this why?”
She chuckles again, “Must be from your dads side of the family.” She shrugs now, letting the onions slide off the board and into a pan.
You roll your eyes at your moms playful comment before sliding the coffee away from you as you sit at your kitchen island, “Anyway, dad’s kind of taking a while, no?” You glance around the kitchen as if he would suddenly appear here.
Your mom smiles to herself while her hands remain busy with cooking dinner, “Yeah, he’s waiting for me to text him saying he can come back from the store.”
You can’t help but snort since you know exactly what she means.
Back when you were a teenager and going through life’s woes that made the whole world feel like it was ending, you would have your meltdowns. Period cramps that made you moody, a friend talking behind your back, the boy you liked was seen kissing someone else. All the things your dad left your mom to handle. He would suddenly want to go to the store and she would somehow signal him when it was safe to return—after the two of you got to talk out whatever was bothering you.
You realize she’s done it now.
“You never used to take this long to tell me what was going on though.” Your mom says quietly, eyes trained on the stove. “Especially not about Jungkook.” She sighs as she reaches for the wooden spoon before stirring the ingredients.
You feel something sharp inside your chest, just at the mention of his name, like there’s a sharp knife.
You turn your face to the side, something uncomfortable and electric tightens your jaw. As if it’s a burning signal that even the mere mention of Jungkook, makes you want to cry. But you won’t. “Well, mom.” You take a deep breath before looking towards her again with a sarcastic smile. “Our marriage wasn’t exactly as perfect as you thought.”
You hope this is enough for her to realize that Haru’s disappearance wasn’t the wedge that created such distance between you and your now, ex-husband.
You stare at the back of your mom’s head as she stands at the stove, still cooking. You wonder if she’s in utter shock at the revelation that perhaps Jungkook isn’t perfect. And your marriage definitely wasn’t. You wait and wait. But you see how she starts adding in a few other things.
“I said—”
“—What marriage is perfect?” Your mom finally turns around, cutting you off with a raised brow. “I never thought that. I’ll never think that. About anyone.” She scoffs before turning towards the stove again. “I told you that you didn’t usually take this long to talk about Jungkook with me.”
You don’t say anything.
Your mom turns her head towards you for a moment, you see the corner of her lip barely start to lift, like a knowing smile wants to form but her frown decides not to budge, “You were married to him for years…you don’t think you’ve come to complain to me?”
You understand her almost smirk now. She faces forward towards the stove again.
“Maybe around six months before Haru’s…incident. You came to Busan and I could tell something was up and you needed to talk.” Your mom rests a hand on her hip, while the other reaches for the stove knob as she turns it down. “But just like now…” She turns her head to eye you again, her worries pulling her lips into a deeper frown. “You took a while to tell me.”
You don’t really react. Not as your brain processes this information.
Your mom continues, “So I know your marriage wasn’t perfect. Jungkook’s not perfect. You’re not perfect.” She exhales through her nose in a half laugh. “I’m not perfect. Your father’s not either. But what’s between us…it has to be protected.”
“Unless that person betrays you.” You say in a low voice, eyes going to your fingers as you pick at your cuticles. “And you lose your trust in them.”
You hear your mom at the stove again as she turns it off and puts the lid on the pan. After a moment you see your mother in your peripherals as she comes to the other side of the counter and sits next to you.
“You mentioned something similar back then.” She says quietly, her face looking ahead. “But then I thought…well, that you thought it wasn’t what you thought.”
You quickly turn your head in your moms direction, eyes on hers. What all did you say to her? “Well, it was.” You say firmly.
Your mom’s eyebrows pull together slowly, something similar to confliction rising in her eyes. “And how exactly did Jungkook betray you?” She asks after a moment.
And it feels pathetic, the feeling of all the muscles in your face betraying your collected appearance. So pathetic that the answer to this question makes your expression twist and break off the cracking mask that is now crumbling and falling from your face.
It takes less than an instant for your heartbreak to be written all over.
Your mom puts a hand to your back, letting you cry it out.
Just like you did when you were a moody teenager and the only one who understood your meltdowns was your mom. She lets you know that once again, that no matter how small or how big—you had every right to feel the way you wanted to.
You cry, a soft pat repeating on your back as you mumble how sad you are and how embarrassing this is.
This short cry feels more like relief in the right company rather than something that is rocking your world in the worst way.
Your mom chuckles a little, pulling away from you. “Embarrassing?”
“Yeah.” You nod with a shameless smile and damp cheeks. “I know you know the me that’s been married to him for years but in my eyes we’ve been on one date and he was our neighbor. So I feel like you should be teasing me about us but you’re here with more knowledge about my marriage than me.” You laugh as you cry more, “So it’s a bit embarrassing.”
“Hm,” Your mom chuckles again, “I guess I can understand that.”
You nod while your fingers wipe beneath your eyes repeatedly, they’re only teary now.
Your mom brings her hand away from you, her fingers intertwining on top of the counter. You watch as she stares down at her hands in thought before she finally sighs and turns your way with a small smile. “Talk to me, y/n. You’re convinced Jungkook betrayed you in some way—ways I can only assume—but tell me, do you really think he’s capable of what you’re thinking?”
You study your mother’s expression for a long moment, brows beginning to furrow when you realize she doesn’t buy it. Tearing your eyes away from her, your lips twist in annoyance, “Are you saying I shouldn’t believe in my own memories?”
You hear your mom sigh again, “You remembered something unpleasant, y/n. I’m not saying I don’t believe you…but even back then,” She pauses, hoping you will look at her but you don’t. She finally continues, “Things just didn’t add up…”
You’re quick to find her eye again, “What all did I tell you?”
At this, your mother scoffs lightly, her small smile still on her lips. “Nothing that really made sense. Seemed like you just…couldn’t tell me things. But I’m not dumb, you know? You drop plenty of hints when you get talking.”
“Oh.” You blink at her, wishing you could even remember whatever hints she’s referring to.
“But the issue is that you stopped talking. You got quiet.” Your mother looks back at her hands again, her gaze hardening. “Then when Haru’s incident happened…you shut us all out. Everyone…” She whispers, lines between her brows forming, a hint of disappointment in her voice that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Even Jungkook.”
You can’t help but feel that same knife start slicing open the inside of your chest at the mention of his name again. “Probably because it’s his fau—”
“—He lost Haru too, y/n.” Your mom cuts you off, her eyes that are filled with something close to anger land on you. “You both did and what’s worse is that you both lost one another in the process.”
“I don’t remember the process but I’m sure I had a hard time even looking him in the eye.” You spit out. “You don’t know what happ—”
“—Do you?” She throws back at you. “Because you have yet to give me a story that makes even a little sense.”
Your heart starts screaming like someone just squeezed it way too hard. You force yourself to look away because tears that no one invited start to form. You feel done with this conversation but before you can announce its over, your mom sighs again and her palm rests against your back and you don’t have it in you to shove her off.
“I’m sorry.” She mutters softly, almost sounding regretful. “I am. You have no idea…” You feel her hand slowly retreat from your back, “How sometimes I would just pray you wouldn’t get your memories back. So you wouldn’t…”
Your mother’s voice grows much softer, almost too quiet to hear.
“Seeing you heartbroken all over again hurts us, y/n. I thought it would be easier…for you. But I guess it’s just easier for us.” She admits, a sharpness in her tone that indicates her regret. “There’s no way you would live happier if parts of you felt missing.”
You feel her words stick to your skin uncomfortably, like sweat from the hot sun rather than a run you worked for. It’s unpleasant but also unwelcomed.
Unwelcomed because you don’t want to accept a life where that could be the case—forced to live a life even with parts of you missing.
An uncomfortable reality and possibility.
“More than…” You begin, hands lifting to gesture towards nothing. “This is more than just Jungkook.”
Your mom chuckles to herself. “Of course I know that.”
“I’m starting to wonder what would feel worse,” You glance towards your empty hands before your fingers clutch nothing softly. “Remembering my child. Or not remembering my child.” Then your lips curl into a half smile that feels so empty as you silently cringe toward yourself, “It doesn’t even feel right saying ‘my’…” you immediately halt, teeth suddenly piercing into your bottom lip. You don’t even feel right calling Haru ‘your’ child. Because you don’t feel like his mother.
You try to keep the half smile plastered on your face but the sharp shock of tears that fill your eyes betray your wants. You quickly blink them away.
“I want to hate Jungkook so bad for so many reasons,” You admit before clearing your throat, “But I mostly hate him because at least he would recognize our sons laugh while I don’t. I hate him because I blame him but at least he knows the kid that I hate him for.”
Also an uncomfortable reality.
“Well,” Your mothers tone lets you know she’s about to change the subject. “You had a doctor’s appointment recently, right? How did it go?”
You shake your head, “He said the progress can be really slow…and that it’s normal for the brain to block out certain traumatic events. So much…” You pause.
“So much what?”
You sigh, “So much doesn’t make sense. It has me feeling so restless.”
“I’m sorry.” Your mom releases a shaky breathy before you hear her voice crack. “I’m so sorry.”
“You know what’s the worst part?” You decide to keep the venting session going. “I just feel ashamed. I’m a parent but I don’t even know about it. I feel so lost. I don’t think if I was given a child I could—”
“This doesn’t make you less of a mother, y/n.” Your mom snaps her eyes in your direction, a fierceness in them. “You are still a parent. A damn good one at that.”
You study your mother’s expression with a fondness, because you see her sincerity. This makes your eyes sting again. “Thanks, mom.”
~
After a nice weekend with your parent’s, you decide you’ve been resting enough. You want to start working again, having too much time on your hands seems like a problem nowadays. You find yourself back at that new café.
“I’ll take a honey lavender latte.” You tell the girl at the counter, her eyes immediately widening before she nods her head in approval.
“Great choice. A personal fav.” She grins before continuing, “And I make it the best.”
A new voice joins in from behind, startling you. “Make that two.” A man says.
You quickly turn around, eyes rising towards the same man you spilled coffee on. “Oh, it’s you.”
He brings a hand to his heart, “I’m a you? That means you remember me!” He smiles at you, shaking his dark hair from his eyes.
You bite your lip, guilt sinking in from the last time. “Well, I thought you were gonna press charges for burning you last time. So, I guess I would remember.”
He looks taken aback, his eyes going round. “Press charges?” Then he laughs, “No, no. I wouldn’t do that, who wants to deal with cops, anyway?”
“Just the two lattes?” The girl at the counter speaks up in a sing song voice and you immediately spin in your spot to apologize to her but the man beats you to it while he pulls out his wallet.
“Should we get a cookie too?” He asks you, his head tilting a little and you start shaking your head. “You sure?” He smiles.
You’re the one taken aback. This guy is too kind. You wonder if he’s like this with everyone.
“Seokjin, you are going to buy us out again.” The girl sighs as she smiles before glancing at you. “He ordered us all out just yesterday.”
“It was for the elderly! You know they get a little cranky if they don’t get something a little sweet to eat! Hasn’t it brought more customers? You could say thank you.” He gets playfully defensive, pout on his lips and the girl gives a shrug while nodding.
“Well, it does make my boss happy. And if he’s happy,” She leans over the counter and whispers. “It’s a better day for everyone.” Then she giggles.
“See!” Seokjin crosses his arms like he’s still offended. “I’m just trying to help you all have a better day!”
You guess he is this nice to everyone.
And before you know it, he’s taking out his card and paying for the drinks. You realize it but it’s too late.
“You didn’t have to pay for that…” You mumble, hand paused on your own wallet. “But thank you.”
“Hopefully you’ll have an even better day too.” He smiles at you and it feels warm.
You take a moment to get a good look at him and you realize just how handsome he is. You remember his chest and broad shoulders from last time but now you see just how full and plump his lips are but you also like his brown eyes.
He smiles at you again.
You’re staring.
“See you around, I guess.” Seokjin puts his wallet back into his back pocket before walking off towards a table near a window.
You know his name but he doesn’t know yours and that feels a little bit like a shame.
But there’s no time for harmless nice guys giving you warm smiles. You’re here to work. Or actually here to retrain yourself on how to do your work.
Your job agreed to help you relearn everything so today, you’re going to sit at a table and get trained. And the girl you knew from college that works at your job will be in contact with you if you have any questions. Mijoo. Apparently you two were a bit acquainted before you started working from home.
When you find a table near the bookshelves, you get to work. There’s updates on old programs you were familiar with but there’s new ones too. Plus, the market is a bit different. It’s a lot to learn but you think you’ll get the hang of it quickly. Just like you did back in the day when you were just starting out.
Two hours or more has passed and you’re buried in your work. But you see a man in your peripherals and a cookie wrapped in parchment paper suddenly on the table right next to your laptop.
You look up and Seokjin gives you that same warm smile before it turns sheepish. “I ended up ordering two for myself a little while ago but I’m too full. You can have it. Well…well, only if you want it, of course.”
You blink up at him before you look at the cookie.
“It’s okay, if you don’t!”
Your eyes go to him again and you shake your head before you give him your own smile. “No, no!” You tell him quickly, “I-I’ll take it. Thank you.”
“Oh.” His lips form the perfect ‘o’ and he gives you a nod. “Nice. See ya.” And he’s smiling again before walking out of the café.
His entire aura is warm and you realize you appreciate people like him even more now. With how cold life has been.
~
After a long day of sitting at the café, you’re now sitting on the floor of your dusty attic. It’s gotten easy to figure out which boxes were stored here by your own hands and which boxes are the ones that Jungkook packed up to avoid you seeing your life. It’s mostly obvious because Jungkook’s packing is much more organized than yours.
You wonder if this box of framed photos in front of you is so neat because he looked at each one slowly, taking his time as he looked at the memories he knew you wouldn’t remember.
You wonder if he took his time because he misses Haru.
And because he missed you.
You manage to conceal a bitter scoff as you lift your foot and push it flat against the box, forcing it back a few inches. Your concern isn’t Jungkook right now. Stop thinking about him. Stop looking at your photos with him. Stop looking at the life you lived with him.
Right now those are your priority.
A strained sigh leaves your mouth as you eye the boxes you’ve dragged to the other side of the attic. You’ve been trying to organize everything in here so you know what’s what. Eyes slide to the left where all your household memories are. Then they slowly drag across the attic, passing by an old, dusty desk to the right side where your personal mystery boxes are.
It’s taken a few days to really separate everything. Because this attic has more than just some boxes of memories and boxes of mysteries. It also has a few too many creepy crawlers hanging in the corners. And things you’re sure 33 year old you wanted to sell and get rid of.
Buzz.
Your eyes suddenly shoot down to your phone when it lights up and vibrates the attic floor, already seeing that it’s another message from Misuk in the group chat with her and Subin.
Last you checked they were gushing over a new song from an artist they like who you barely even know so you don’t rush to really look. Your eyes stay on the screen until the light dims and it goes black.
You’d be lying if you said you wish you didn’t have help. Someone to guide you to some answers.
Another strained sigh before a half assed chuckle barely rumbles in your chest.
Well, ‘someone’ could guide you to some answers. And that someone is 33 year old you but unfortunately you don’t understand majority of what you’ve found. As if only parts of the puzzle are in these boxes, just edges and corner pieces and you’re missing all the pieces that fill everything in.
Your eyes still linger on the black screen as they begin to lose focus as your mind whirls into your endless list of questions again. The boxes of mysteries are only three boxes. One of them having nothing to do with your son, you think. But the other two have caused some concern.
Something tells you that 33 year old you is really not convinced that your son is dead.
It’s clear you were investigating on your own. But your notes barely make sense. And it is more than fucking frustrating.
You’re about to close your eyes and groan but your phone suddenly lights up again as you feel a slight vibration next to your foot. It’s another text but it doesn’t look like its apart of the group chat.
You squint at the screen but it’s too far to really read anything so you finally give in and reach for the device and bring it closer to your face. And then you feel the sudden thump in your lower belly where your heart just landed.
Jungkook 9:19pm
How are you doing?
A razor sharp sting tightens every muscle in your body, the sudden tension making your breaths stop.
More than a month and a half since you’ve last seen and spoken to him and he’s finally said something to you.
Finally because as much as you hate him, his existence makes you breathe. And you have to breathe to live.
Buzz.
Your hand vibrates along with your phone and you suddenly clench your fingers around it.
Jungkook 9:19pm
I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.
Your heart suddenly leaps up into your throat, choking you a bit as you try to breathe. Is that a confession? It already bothers you that he barely tried to explain himself and now he’s been silent all this time. And now he’s apologizing? He’s guilty, isn’t—
Buzz.
Jungkook 9:20pm
I just wish you would talk to me y/n…
That concealed scoff from earlier has finally broken free, pushing past your lips in something like disgust. Talk to him? Talk to him? You feel an uncomfortable anger start poking your skin from the inside and you squeeze your phone harder in you hand. The fucking audacity.
There’s a brief moment when you consider chucking your phone across the attic but fortunately you only slam it to the floor. Frustration still hot on your skin, you quickly reach for a worn out decorative pillow and hurl it in front of you with a lot of strength, knocking against the old desk as it wobbles for a moment.
You release a short puff of air, head lowering and eyes closing as you try to calm yourself. You’ll admit, it did feel kind of good to release some en—
Thump.
Your eyes snap open as you tilt your head up towards the desk where the sudden sound just came. Did something fall inside? But what? You had checked the desk before. The top drawer only had a few pens and some sticky notes while the bottom drawer was empty minus some loose sheets of printer paper. And the left side of the desk is just two empty book shelves. It is basically empty.
It was probably nothing.
You’re about to move on, mind already wanting to go back to Jungkook when the sudden thump just can’t make sense. Something with some weight definitely fell in or on the desk, right? But you’re sure there’s nothing from when you checked the other week.
Doesn’t hurt to look again, you decide. Maybe this is your intuition talking to you.
You finally lift yourself from the attic floor, giving one last look at the boxes that are filled with your life with Jungkook and Haru before heading towards the middle where the desk is. It’s got an impressive layer of dust that you haven’t found any real reason to clean since the desk isn’t something you’d visit often.
Giving in, you reach for the top drawer and open it, just like you had the other week, but just like last time, the drawer only has three pens, some used sticky notes with doodles and numbers lying around and one black marker.
You knew there was nothing. Shutting the drawer, you quickly open the bottom drawer. It’s a deeper space, like you could fit a small filing cabinet. But instead, there’s only a few loose sheets of blank printer paper.
Not convinced, you shove your hand inside the drawer, feeling around for anything strange and even trying to reach behind but you’re met with nothing. Okay. You step away from the desk for a moment, eyeing it suspiciously because you’re certain something with more weight than any of those things fell. And fell here.
There’s nothing else here besides this raggedy pillow. You glance down at it, the pathetic thing on the floor before you groan, kicking it away from you.
So what? You just imagine all kinds of things now? Is that the new normal?
Suddenly not minding the thick layer of dust, you lean forward in defeat, hands gripping the edge of the desk as you support some of your weight onto it but the desk wobbles forward on its probably broken, unsteady legs. And you know you don’t imagine it when something with some weight definitely shifts inside.
“Uh, what was that…?” You mumble to yourself, eyebrows coming together slowly as you take another look at the desk. Your eyes immediately fall to the left side where the two empty shelves are. It definitely came from this side.
You quickly squat down, eyes trained on the shelves, inspecting every single inch of the empty and terribly dusty space. “Don’t tell me…” You whisper, expression highly focused as you look at the back panel of the shelves. The shelving space is not nearly as deep as of the width of the desk.
You blink at it, breaths now falling from your lips faster as your fingers quickly go to touch the backing panel and when it wiggles freely with enough pressure, you know you’ve found something. Feeling impatient, you jostle the thin wood around until you can figure out how to remove it.
And when it starts poking through the side of the shelf, your heart starts racing while you quickly slide the panel through the wooden desk. You feel it. Maybe it’s instinct because somewhere in your brain you know this is familiar and means something. The panel drops to the floor once its slid out but before it even touches, your hands are already digging inside.
“Okay, okay, okay.” You repeat with shaky breaths. Fingers already grasping what’s here and you feel yourself growing more and more anxious. A shoe box. An open shoe box that’s close to overflowing. You pull it out while you sit down onto the floor, the box settling right in front of you.
“Okay,” You sigh, reaching for the first item on top. It’s a small note book, the kind you’d use to make a check list of sorts. You take a deep breath before flipping it open and a few loose contents fall out. And then you feel the breath of a ghost at the base of your neck.
You pick up a folded sheet of paper along with a bent photo of Nabi. You feel the cold breath travel down your spine as you unfold the paper and read what’s written in someone else’s handwriting.
Yun Nabi
118, Seolleungro-150, Yongsan-gu, Seoul
010-6203-3087
010 3476 9876àweekends
010 9874 3456 new ##
You stare down at the worn paper, confusion clouding your mind. You want to rip her photo to shreds.
You quickly glance to the bent photo in your other hand and before you tell your hand what to do, it’s already crumbling it. Your dark gaze set on the now wrinkled woman who managed to gain Jungkook’s attention.
Maybe it’s not her fault if she’s great.
Maybe it’s your fault.
Your eyes stay trained on the crumbled photo but they’ve lost focus once again. Soon the balled up picture and the folded note fall to your lap as Numbness hugs you over your shoulders and as Insecurity sits next to you and whispers into your ear.
Why did Jungkook cheat on you?
You manage to blink but your throat feels dry.
Why did he do that to you? Why would anyone…?
You want to laugh at yourself. Because you know if this happened to anyone else you would know it wasn’t their fault. The person who cheated…it’s about them and no one else. And you want to tell yourself this, remind yourself, confirm that this isn’t your fault.
But why do you sit here, letting Numbness hug you tighter? And why do you sit here and wonder?
You wonder…you wonder where you went wrong that you were no longer enough for him.
And it doesn’t feel fair that you’re wondering that.
You take the photograph and crumple it even more before throwing it to the side and decide to open the notebook. And you see more puzzle pieces.
Routine
7 he wakes up….sometimes 8
Jungkook takes him to work sometimes for fun
Someone at work?? Who? Another list
Daycare usually Mondays & Thursdays for sure
Busiest days at work
You flip the page
Thursday the 14th, at the bus station,
The 18th when I was going home
There was a car parked outside on the street for 3 days
The 5th
The 8th
The 12th I ran into someone who knew me but I didn’t know them
A man with buzzed hair
Something hot bubbles inside your chest and it feels like it’s burning you. Anxiety has a touch of fire. You flip to the next page.
It just scribbles like you were frustrated.
Just like you are now.
You decide to close to the notebook. Discomfort swallowing you like a dry pill.
But you don’t stop looking through the box. Pictures of people you don’t know. More lists of times and dates. But no context. More frustration building.
Your head snaps up suddenly when you recall something falling so you quickly reach inside the secretive hole in the desk and feel around. Your fingers grasp at nothing until something cold is felt. You can tell what it is immediately as you wrap your fingers around the device. A phone.
You take the cold, shiny device in your clammy hands and rush to turn it on but it’s got a dead battery. You turn the phone upside down to check what kind of charger it takes and remember that downstairs in the kitchen there’s a drawer of random charging cables.
You need to get this thing turned on. Now.
“Are you okay?” You immediately straighten your back, phone dropping to the attic floor, the sudden voice a shock since you live alone. You quickly look around you, eyes darting from place to place but of course, there’s no one here. You feel sick. Especially because…didn’t that voice sound like—
“Are you okay?” Jungkook comes next to you, his eyes avoiding yours but he can’t hide the concern in his voice. You look at him, equally annoyed as he is. But still, you hear in his voice he doesn’t totally hate you.
“It’s fine.” You mumble, fingers picking at the bandage wrapped around your palm. “It just got scraped.”
Jungkook chuckles humorlessly, “Misuk said Subin threw up in her mouth because of the blood.”
You shrug, “Okay, it was pretty bad.”
Jungkook stays silent and the same tension that’s been building since Sana’s wedding is here again. You, Jungkook, Misuk and Subin came to Busan for the weekend to celebrate your mom’s birthday but today, the day of the party, has been anything but fun. One thing after the other, but the cherry on top was around 20 minutes ago when you accidentally sliced your palm open while helping in the kitchen.
Now you’re outside trying to cool off but the last person you want to see has come to check on you.
“Does it hurt?” Jungkook stares up at the tree you two are standing in front of outside your house. He doesn’t bother to try and soften his tone. Sure, it’s concerned but it’s also irritated.
“I told you it’s fine.” You answer, sounding clipped. “Just go back inside.”
“You’re mad at me if I’m inside. You’re mad at me if I’m outside.” He stuffs his hands in his front jean pockets and continues gazing at the tall tree. “I really don’t understand why you’re so up—”
“—Oh? You don’t?” You turn your head to glare at him, “Really?”
You watch Jungkook’s profile, his jaw tightening for a moment before he sighs out.
“I don’t know.” He tells you before turning to face you as well. Your eyes are narrowed but he sees plenty of disappointment in them. “Maybe I do. But I also seriously don’t.”
You look down to the ground, a moment of consideration because you kind of understand him. But then you recall last night and realize that no, he definitely should understand why you’re mad.
Things have changed between you two. Ever since Sana’s wedding, there’s been something different and enticing. Moments that feel way too charged to be platonic. But neither of you have spoken up about it. Maybe he’s afraid you don’t feel it. Or maybe you’re now just realizing you’re afraid he is the one who doesn’t feel it.
Because how doesn’t he understand that having his last serious girlfriend from Busan in your parents living room while they flirt with one another relentlessly in front of you, is not going to make you mad?
“You don’t think flirting with your ex-girlfriend in front of me wasn’t going to make me mad, Jungkook?” You throw the words at him without much care for his reaction. It’s an honest question, in your book.
“Okay,” Jungkook tilts his head back before running his hands through his hair, “So this is about Hanja.” He groans a little before giving in and taking a step closer to you. “I didn’t think it was a big deal…and you call her my ex girl-friend as if she doesn’t have a name. Hanja told me she had a lot of classes with you in High School!”
“And?” You deadpan. “Doesn’t make us friends.”
“Okay.” He nods but now he’s the one with disappointment in his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you had to be rude.”
“You invited her to my mom’s birthday party!” You throw back, “And have barely even…” It sucks that your voice gets a little softer because you just want to make a point. “You’ve barely even looked at me since she’s been here.”
Jungkook’s lips part and he looks conflicted as he registers your words but you don’t wait for him to get it before you continue.
“Sure,” You manage a stubborn shrug, “Maybe you’re not flirting with her but you don’t stop her when she does with you.”
Jungkook’s brows furrow, “She hasn’t flirted with me, y/n.” He tries to assure you, his tone finally not irritated but instead the same soft as yours. “We just have history, you know? But that was what? 5 years ago? 6? 7? I don’t even know. We ended on good terms so I thought it was harmless. She’s in town too and had nothing to do…I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“I just…” You finally meet his eye for the first time more willingly, “I don’t know.”
He finally relaxes his features and a pleasantly pleased smile starts tugging at the corner of his lips, “You’re…jealous.” He confirms softly.
You raise a brow at him, feeling annoyed. “So then you do understand why I’m mad.”
“Yeah.” He agrees but you see the uncertainty in his eyes. “But I wasn’t sure. Maybe hoping but I couldn’t be sure, you know?”
“Did you want me to be jealous?” You ask, unsure how that makes you feel but you see genuine and quiet panic all over his face while he shakes his head.
“No, no.” He tells you with big eyes. “But when I realized you were mad at me, I thought it could be because you were jealous. And,” He pauses, swallowing what you think is nerves. “That’s why I became hopeful, I guess.”
“And why is that?” A cool breeze suddenly picks up and it feels nice against your cheeks.
“Because it might mean…” His words grow quieter, seeking your understanding of where he was going. “But without being direct…well, I can’t really be sure, you know?”
“Then why can’t we be direct?” You gesture between your bodies, “I like you, Jungkook.” It doesn’t take a lot of effort to say it, to admit it, but it does take a lot of effort to not tear your eyes away from him in embarrassment. But your gaze remains on his.
“And there’s no way I’m imagining—”
“—You aren’t!” Jungkook panics, his fingers flying to your wrists, holding on to them as he persuades your eyes to remain on his again. “You aren’t imagining it. I know it, too.” He tells you but he looks and sounds conflicted.
“For months, Jungkook.” You say quietly, “I’ve been wondering for months if you’re going to make a real move on me.”
He can’t help but smile at you nervously, his clammy fingers still pressing into your wrists. “I just…” Jungkook’s smile begins dropping as he explains himself, “…I’m so afraid of talking about this because it might change our friendship and you’re just,” He pauses, eyes searching yours because he needs to see if you understand. “You’re too important, y/n.”
“You’d rather never tell me how you feel because it might change our friendship?” You ask him, ignoring the fire burning along the edges of your skin. “You would rather spend forever just wondering if I feel the same as you? Just like I’ve been wondering if you feel the same as me? Too afraid to talk about it because it…might change our friendship?”
Jungkook’s fingers finally disconnect from your skin and into his hair, his nerves only multiplying but he finds the courage to say, “If you didn’t feel the same, things would change.”
“If I didn’t feel the same then things wouldn’t have changed in the first place. Jungkook, things have already changed. And I don’t like wondering. We’re already past platonic so I’ll tell you—”
Suddenly, your head starts pounding.
A new memory unlocked.
And it only makes you sit on your attic floor and cry.
Great timing.
~
Your fingers feel frozen, maybe even numb as you dig through another random kitchen drawer to find the correct charger for the phone you’ve found. So far you haven’t been lucky. Then again, nothing feels lucky. You’ve been quiet to yourself all day after last night. Not even a thought out loud.
Your eyes grow watery again but you immediately slam your lids shut, squeezing tightly because you refuse to shed anymore tears. You might have to buy a new charger but you really aren’t in the mood to leave the house. You aren’t in the mood for anything except maybe hurling more old, worn out, decorative pillows at dusty furniture. But now you feel afraid for what you might find. The more mysteries you unlock, you’re afraid to unlock a memory along with it.
It's evening now, the kitchen clock says 6:13pm. The day has gone by. You watched the sun rise this morning and now you’re witnessing it set. You have yet to find it in you to sleep today. Maybe you’re afraid you’ll slip into your bed that you once shared with Jungkook and suddenly you’ll remember all the times you’ve slept in it with him. You can’t afford any more of that. Just yesterday you were begging 33 year old you to share some of the life you’ve missed and now that she is sharing some of the years…you’re realizing you aren’t ready.
You take a deep breath, shutting a drawer shut when you decide to order a new charging cable for the phone. Your eyes slide to the device that rests peacefully on the counter while your heart beats uncomfortably in your throat. You stare at it, wondering what contents lie inside but a part of you feels fearful of what you might find.
Taking another breath, you wrap your arms around yourself, hugging yourself for a moment before you decide to take care of this. Sitting yourself at the kitchen island, opening your laptop, you search the phone and get the cable ordered for delivery tomorrow. This is better than driving yourself nuts trying to find it.
You close your eyes, resting your head down to the counter, wishing you could turn your day around.
Ding Dong.
Your eyes snap open.
And something unsettling starts whirling in your belly. As if you can sense who is at your door.
Knock Knock Knock.
You groan quietly to yourself because you just know. You know exactly who it is for some insane reason. You just feel it. You stand from the stool and walk yourself to your front door. Swinging it open without even peeping through the hole to confirm your suspicions.
Jungkook’s doesn’t look too good. For as handsome as he is, he looks rough. His skin is dry, his lips are pale and the bags under his eyes give away how much sleep he isn’t getting. You don’t care though. Not about him. Your fingers grip around the door frame tighter, your skin burning at the sight.
“I just wanted to see how you were.” He tells you, voice so quiet you had to read his lips.
You want to scoff bitterly in his face, shut him out and make him feel thrown away.
But your foot pushes the front door further open as you turn around to go into the living room. You’ve invited him in. Though, ‘invited’ feels like a strong word.
You can hear the door creak open even furth from behind you, shoes are shuffling onto the floor and the door clicks shut. You hold your breath as you walk to the sofa, sitting yourself down at the very end of it as your eyes glue themselves to the black screen of the TV.
Jungkook follows your lead and sits at the other end of the couch. In your peripherals, he looks like a big, black scribble of a thousand swirling lines and you don’t have it in you to focus your eyes on him and let him appear as Jungkook. As a person. So, you keep your eyes on the TV.
Nothing is said between you both for a long while, all your senses are heightened though as you anticipate his next words to you. The hairs on your arms rise when the click of the AC goes off as it turns on. You wonder if his next words have to do with apologizing about cheating on you. Apologize to you that you just couldn’t be enough. Apologize to you for losing your son.
Your head slightly tilts in the direction of the kitchen when you notice the soft drip drops of water from the faucet. The distant bark from a small dog. Jungkook’s fingernails scratching his forearm. Every noise is going off in your ears, haunting you, taunting you and driving you insane.
You only want to hear his voice.
“Why are you here?” You finally break the noisy silence.
“To see you.” He says, voice quiet and afraid. “You’re doing better than me, huh?”
Your palms are flat against the couch cushion before you slowly curl your fingers, grabbing nothing of the material at his words. “Do you really think you get to say that to me?”
“This isn’t fair for either of us, y/n.” Jungkook has the audacity to keep speaking. “You just don’t understand.”
You twist your head to eye him, your jaw tight as you watch him sit on the sofa, eyes cowering away from yours. “You’ll stop talking now.” You tell him as your voice becomes quiet and afraid as well. You’re livid but you speak like you’re hurt.
“Then…” Jungkook pauses, his eyes going all around the living room now before he sighs. “Then I’ll just listen.”
You push your head back in disbelief, “I didn’t ask you to come here so I can talk to you. In fact, I didn’t ask you to come here at all.”
He finally turns his head toward you, his eyes are red and watery and you hate that you hate seeing him on the verge of tears. You watch his throat as you pay attention to the hard way he swallows. “I know. But I had to see you.”
Suddenly, your head starts pounding, a harsh banging from inside your forehead. You quickly let your head fall into your hands when those words keep repeating inside your mind. I know. But I had to see you. I know. But I had to see you. I know. But I had to see you.
You groan into your hands. The pain erupting on all sides of your head. The words repeating over and over, making your ears feel like they’re bleeding. I know. But I had to see you.
“y/n?” You hear Jungkook’s quiet and afraid voice.
I know. But I had to see you.
“I thought you didn’t want to see me…” Jungkook’s eyes are blood shot. You know he’s been drinking again.
“I know.” You mutter, “But I had to see you.”
“Oh.” He stumbles backward, his hand widening his front door to his new, shitty apartment. You feel anger bubbling, because you know he’s drunk. You’re doing everything in your power to keep it together and he’s wasting his time drinking.
“You’ve shut out Jimin.” You tell him, cutting to the chase. “So you don’t know anything, do you?”
“W-What’s there to know? I don’t need them anymore. Also, I was fucking fired.”
You snap your eyes to his as he still stands at his open doorway. “You’re pissing me off, Jungkook.”
“I can do this on my—”
“—They’re closing the case.” You say. “They’re saying he’s…that he’s…” You pause, throat growing drier. “You know.”
“I don’t know.” Jungkook drunkenly shrugs, slamming the door shut, making you flinch. “They’re all wrong, anyway.”
You feel your shoulders growing tenser, your lips in a hard, thin line before they die into a frown. “They’re saying we should hold a funeral.”
Jungkook’s body goes still, his hanging arms at his sides suddenly rise to his face when he rubs his temples. “Excuse me?”
“They want to—”
“Just stop!” He suddenly cries out, voice shrill. You see his eyes growing redder and redder as tears fill them up. “None of you know what you-you’re talking about. Just shut up, all of you!”
You flinch.
Jungkook’s fingers go into his hair when he starts pulling on the strands. “This just isn’t right.” He keeps muttering to himself, “I got this. I got this. I got this.” He starts pacing back and forth in front of his coffee table. “Just stop. Stop talking.”
You stand in silence.
“I said stop talking!”
You watch him unravel.
“Jung—”
Glass breaks across the coffee table. A shattered soju bottle that he’s thrown.
You flinch again.
You take a step back.
Jungkook falls to the floor, crying and yelling at no one. The loss of your son is much worse than you could have imagined. But you knew telling Jungkook about the funeral was going to cause something more serious to unravel. But you didn’t imagine this.
“y/n?” Jungkook voice sounds sober now. “y/n?”
Your head is about to split into sections, the pain so overwhelming.
You lift your face from your hands, your cheeks overflowing with tears. Why did you have to remember that?
“Hey,” Jungkook stands from the sofa and comes closer to you. His hand hesitantly landing on your shoulder but just like in your memory, you flinch. He immediately frowns. “y/n…” He brings his hand back to his body. “Talk to me, I’ll just listen.”
“G-go.” You keep your head low as your eyes stay glued to your lap. “Please just go.”
His hands freeze at his sides, using all of his self-control. Even you can feel how tense his body is, just from the heat that radiates off of it. You’re being serious. He needs to go before you spiral into one of your throbbing headaches that give you a panic attack. The kind you can manage on your own—and prefer to.
“Please, Jungkook…” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m not feeling well now so pl—”
“—Okay.” His fingers curl into hard fists. “Call me if you need anything. Please.” He stands here for another moment, like his feet have become glued to the floor and he’s unable to move. But after a tentative sigh, they finally move. And your ears bleed again at each sound that can be heard. The click of the AC turning off, the small dog whining in your neighbor’s yard, each drip of water dropping from the faucet and finally the whoosh of the front door opening and closing shut. And you finally let go a long, long breath.
Your head hurts and your heart hurts, the memory fresh in your mind. You never imagined to see Jungkook…like that. You barely recognized him. Does he have a drinking problem? Or did? You need to erase these images in your head, or at least scatter something pretty over them. And that’s when you get an idea that you know is pure torture.
~
One of the boxes from the attic is sat on your living floor, with your bottom plopped right next to it. It’s a box you organized yourself, you can tell. Just a box of intimate memories with your ex-husband. You pull out a letter you’ve read at least six times now…might as well make it seven.
The envelope is pink with little hearts drawn all over it and though it’s only eight years old, it looks like it’s at least 20. The envelope itself is wrinkly with random water stains and the page inside is soft and used like you’ve read this letter a thousand times. Might as well make it a thousand and one.
You slip the paper out of the envelope, unfolding it carefully, the crinkling paper opening up with Jungkook’s handwriting written all over.
April 10 2015
Dear y/n,
Hi it’s me, your boooooyfriend. >.< sorry I’m still getting used to it. You’re probably wondering why I’m writing a letter when I could just call or text you but you seemed to think it was cute in that movie we watched the other day and so Im writing you one too!! Also, I think my peers are thinking Im working really hard on a case. I wish I was but they won’t give me anything good. I know it hasn’t even been a year since I finally landed here in the Investigation sector as a detective but they still treat me like such a rookie…blaaaahhhhh you know this already. The captain seems to think I have potential though. But ya know what? The guys here said the only thing ive done right so far is getting you as a girlfriend hahaha
Maybe they’re right I mean they’re definitely right
I miss you so much
Im sitting here at my desk writing you and its just making me miss you a kabillzillion times more…….i seriously aaaaahhhh im going crazy because I miss you that much
Im so lucky youre so amazing and my favorite person to exist and so pretty so pretty
I know we’ve only been together for a short while but what if I told you I know exactly how I feel about yoooouuuuu huh what if
Ask me about it when I see you tonight
Love,
Jungkook Your cheerios
You read it. Then you read it again. This is the Jungkook you want to remember.
~~
It’s the next day and you’re opening the package you ordered just yesterday. Pulling out a small box, you get it open and unravel the charging cable to the phone you’ve found. Taking a look at the clock, you realize you’re a bit behind. You wanted to get to the café at noon for work but it’s already 15 after. You quickly plug the charger into the wall and get the phone charging. It’s dead so it’ll take a while to get turned on so you decide to leave it here while you head out.
The café is a bit busy today, more people than you’re used to, but thankfully you see an open table. You set up your laptop and get to work. Taking a pause to message Mijoo about needing some guidance if she can meet any of these days. It would be nice to have some help in person. After working for a bit, you can’t help but lift your face from the screen and dart your eyes around the place. No sign of Seokjin today. Not that it means anything but he’s got the kind of warm, reassuring smile that you could use these days.
And just like clockwork, the quiet bell dings when he walks through the café’s front door. He meets your eye immediately and gives you a small nod and the smile you were searching for. You nod back, eyes going back down to the laptop before you take another peak towards Seokjin. He’s walked up to the counter, talking with the young girl that’s always here. After a moment she hands him a box of what you assume are desserts. Maybe he’s giving them to the elderly again.
Then he walks out.
Oh, he isn’t staying today.
That’s okay, you don’t have time to chat with a harmless nice guy anyway. You have work to do. Something to truly get your mind off of everything else you’ve been going through. You think it’s a miracle you have it in you to try every day. In another universe, you might have already gone insane.
~
After working a little while longer, you pack your things up and head to your car. It’s a sunny day, barely any clouds in the sky and it feels warm. Warm enough to make you forget this coldness that lingers all around you, all inside you.
You start driving home when you remember you’re supposed to pick up a few groceries so you stop by the market first. It’s not too crowded and since you’re in an okay mood, you decide to put in your earphones and walk inside with a pep to your step. You needed zucchini…what else? Bread for sure was on your list. Peanut butter, eggs, oh yeah and some chips for when you get a craving.
You start heading to the aisle with peanut butter when you recognize someone familiar.
“Seokjin?” You mumble his name but he doesn’t hear you. His eyes fully focused on his jams. He stands here, deep in thought before he finally reaches for one.
“Hi.” You say a little louder and he jumps in his spot.
He turns to face you, ears turning red when he sees you. “Hi.” He stares at you dumbfounded for a moment, “I just realized I don’t know your name.” Then he chuckles.
You can’t help but crack a smile, “It’s y/n.”
“Ah, y/n. Yeah, that suits you.” He tells you confidently.
“Does it?”
“Do you usually shop here?” Seokjin gestures around the aisle, “I’ve never seen you before. Or are you…” He suddenly drops his smile and looks serious. “Following me?” Then he breaks into a huge smile before adding, “Dun, dun, duuuun.”
You feel your stomach swirl with something before you shake your head, feeling embarrassed. “No, no! I live around here actually. This is just a coincidence.”
“A coincidence, huh? A lot of those lately.” He gives you another smile, this time more teasing. “We should just meet on purpose, you know.”
You stand here, taken aback by his words. Is he implying meeting intentionally?
He seems to feel your shift. “Unless, unless…” His eyes avert yours now, his ears turning a deeper shade of red. “Sorry. Unless you don’t want to. Maybe you’re already seeing someone.”
You shake your head quickly, “No. I’m…I’m not.” You’re not but it feels wrong to say it. “But I wasn’t assuming…anything. Like, if you were implying a date or something.”
Seokjin pouts his lips before glancing up at the ceiling, “Why not? You would have been right.”
You blink at him, taken aback again. “Oh.”
“I happen to know a pretty great restaurant. Maybe we can not coincidentally meet there?”
He’s…asking you out.
And it pains you because… “I can’t. Sorry,” You look down at your feet before glancing towards the jams. “Umm, I’m kind of going through something and—”
“—Oh.” Seokjin nods his head quickly. “No, no. I understand…you don’t have to explain. I’m kind of going through something too and I know that a good way to get through it is some nice company every now and then.” He gives you a warm smile, all the teasing gone. “I understand you though. So don’t worry but…” He suddenly pats his pants pockets before looking delighted. “In case you change your mind…I’m learning to…how do they kids say…shoot my shot.” He suddenly pulls out a receipt and a pen and scribbles something on it before handing it to you.
His number.
“Just in case!” He cheeses harder.
~
“I honestly don’t think it’s a big deal.” Misuk looks at you through the camera, her face looking brighter. “It’s just a date!”
“It is a big deal.” You whine again, “I’m in love with someone else and I have a whole lot of mess going on.”
Subin nods her head sympathetically, “That’s true. But I think Misuk means it’s not a big deal because it could be…” She pauses, clearly thinking of the right words. It’s amusing to you to see they might agree on this. “A good thing? A simple thing! A little, you know, fun thing!”
“Exactly!” Misuk drags out the word, “You don’t have to fall in love but you’re so focused on…you know, your memories…that you aren’t living life.”
“Uh,” You begin to defend yourself, “I’m—”
“—Yes, yes.” Misuk waves you off, “You are getting back into work! And that’s good! But you really should start living a normal life again.”
“And…” Subin looks off camera, her eyes looking softer. “It’s kind of the same. You are missing your memories, yes, and I’m so sorry…but 33 year old you was the same. Divorced. And I don’t think you were in any headspace to even think about wanting Jungkook back.” She finishes quietly.
“You wanted nothing to do with him.” Misuk tells you. “So just live a little…you know, just normal things. And who knows, it might help with your memories.”
You sit still for a moment. You’ll admit that you haven’t exactly been living normally. You mostly sit around all day, alone, surrounding yourself with things you don’t understand and torture yourself with memories of Jungkook.
“Anyway, I’ll let you guys know if anything changes.” You chuckle after you focus your eyes on your friends again. “I just got home so I gotta put these groceries ...away" Your eye notices the list lying on the counter and you realize..."Damn, and I forgot the eggs. Anyway, I’ll call later!” You sing out.
“Okay! Bye!”
“Bye!” Subin sings back. And you end the call.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe you deserve a little break or something simple and fun. You bite your lip, thoughts still lingering but you decide to reach into your back pocket and pull out the receipt Seokjin gave you. You shake your head quickly but reach for your phone and input the number and press call. You need light in this darkness.
~~
You hate feeling defeated.
Sitting on your sofa, blanket wrapped tightly around you as your hand clenches around this cold, empty and useless device.
The phone has either never been used or was completely wiped. You thought you could torture yourself with more information but you’ve come out of this empty handed. There’s nothing on here. No call history, no text history, no pictures or videos…nothing. You squeeze the phone harder, frustration still building. When your actual phone buzzes.
Your eyes shoot down to your now lit up phone and you drop the useless one to the couch cushion. It might be Subin gushing about this band she’s seeing this weekend. You’ll ignore—
Buzz.
You give in, reaching for your phone and your stomach does its usual uneasy swirling.
Jungkook 9:10pm
How are you feeling?
Jungkook 9:10pm
We don’t have to talk but at least tell me how youre doing…
Your eyes slam shut, the urge to cry too strong. Because you’re hurt. You’re hurting. You’re confused. You’re angry. And you’re sad.
Why are you so weak? You should delete him, block him and throw your whole phone away. Because your phone knows him and you don’t.
But you’re weak because you’re going to text back.
Except Jungkook beats you to it.
Jungkook 9:13pm
Did you get hit with a headache earlier? You okay? Have you seen your doctor lately?
All these questions are giving you different kind of headache.
You 9:13pm
Its fine, Im fine
You lie
Jungkook 9:13pm
Liar
You 9:14pm
Jungkook
You 9:14pm
Do you have a drinking problem?
You press send. You see the bubbles pop up your screen, indicating that he’s typing but they disappear. Then they reappear. And disappear again.
You 9:16pm
Jungkook?
Jungkook 9:16pm
Who told you that?
You feel your shoulders tense.
You 9:16pm
No one told me
You 9:17pm
I just remember when I went to your place…there was a lot of alcohol lying around and the place seemed rough
You 9:17pm
And idk I got thinking. Im not trying to accuse you or anything but…is what I saw…what I think it is?
You send. It’s not a total lie. Not what you’re referring to…but not a total lie.
You stare at the screen but there’s no indication if he’s read your message or not. No typing. Nothing. Your eyes glance at the clock and it reads 9:19pm now. It’s okay. Only two minutes. But why does it feel like eternity?
9:25pm and all you’ve done is sit, tightly wrapped in a blanket on your couch, and stare at your phone screen, touching the screen every time it times out. And still nothing.
But then you see bubbles pop up.
Back straightening, you breathe in and out as your eyes remain on the screen.
He’s been typing for three minutes.
You hold your breath now.
Jungkook 9:28pm
And if it is?
You let out a short breath, disbelief crawling all over your skin that you throw the blanket off of you and stand from the couch. Your memories are reliable.
You feel a sting pierce your eyes but you grit your teeth and hold any tears back. This is just too much for you to accept. You walk into the kitchen, frustration raging inside your body. You step up to the sink, hands gripping the edge of the counter before leaning forward, sighing out your anger.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Calming down, you immediately grab a bowl and sniffle to yourself. You’ll just do these dishes and forget all about this.
You take another bowl, the hot water burning your fingers and palms as you absentmindedly scrub it clean.
“Sometimes I think you wash clean dishes at this point.” Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.
You laugh, “Not true.”
“The water is too hot, baby.” He nuzzles his face into your neck, suddenly pecking it softly. “You’re going to melt the skin off your bones.”
You realize he’s right, the water is really hot but you were just lost in thought. Your wedding is in two days. You get out of your thoughts while you set the bowl back into the sink and turn the faucet off. “I’m just—”
“I know.” Jungkook nuzzles his nose into your warm skin. “I can’t believe you’re the one who’s nervous between us.”
You sigh, small smile on your face. “I’m not nervous. But I am, a little.”
“I know.”
“Not in a bad way.”
“I know that too.”
“In a…marrying the love of my life, wow life is crazy kind of way.” You dry your hands before twisting in Jungkook’s embrace and you lean in to kiss him. “You probably know what I mean.”
He laughs against your lips, “I would be the one who knows exactly what you mean.”
Your lips twist into a sheepish smile, “I missed you today.”
“I missed you more.”
You roll your eyes, a teasing smile forming now. “Liar.”
He looks surprised for a second before rolling his own eyes, “I’m serious.”
“You’re only serious about work nowadays.” You tease him, and you are mostly teasing. It’s only lately he’s been zeroed in on a case.
But Jungkook frowns, “It isn’t going well.” He admits to you. “I don’t know that we’ll get this one.”
“You will.” You lean forward more and nudge your nose against his, “You are the best there is.”
Jungkook chuckles, “Unfortunately I’m still in the ‘proving myself’ phase.”
“Here too.” You continue to tease him, “Still deciding if this wedding is happ—”
“—Heeeeey, don’t joke like that.” Jungkook nudges his nose against yours now, “Tell me I’m the best here too.”
Your hands trail down his chest, eyes focusing on his. “You are.”
“I wish Jimin would tell me that too.” He laughs a little but you know he’s serious. You take his hands in yours.
“You guys are new at being partners. Give it time, babe.”
“He hates me.” Jungkook sighs, “He thinks I mess everything up. And honestly, I can’t blow this one, y/n. The captain believes in me, which is good but my own partner doubts me.”
You understand this is hard for Jungkook to accept.
“Listen…” You give his hands a squeeze. “This is your first big one, right? Take it slow and I know you won’t get flustered like the last one.”
He immediately drops his hands from yours, “I can’t get like how I was with the last one.” Jungkook takes a step away from you, “This one is way too serious…the men I’m dealing with, y/n…you have no idea. I can’t mess this up.”
“Baby…” You feel bad for bringing up the last case he took with Jimin. He got too involved emotionally and when things didn’t end up well for the victim…”It’s okay. You have me to talk about this with and—”
“—But I don’t. I’m legally not allowed to. I got in trouble with sharing so much last time and…fuck,” Jungkook pauses. Closes his eyes slowly before taking a step forward and reaching for your hands again. “This is not what we need to be talking about right before our wedding. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” You give his hands another squeeze. “We share our lives. With or without marriage, right?”
“I only wanna talk about us.” He breathes out softly, his lips inching closer to yours. “Let’s focus on you and me.”
And your skin is burning again. It’s on fire. Too much fire, it hurts.
And that’s when you realize you’re still here at your kitchen sink, hot lava rushing to your skin, burning you as you hold the bowl you were cleaning.
You take a deep breath, taking a step back from the sink when you slam your eyes shut and let out a loud groan. You don’t even flinch when the sound of glass hits the floor because you’ve thrown the bowl. You don’t care.
Another memory.
And it seems they’re all out of order.
~~
Another bead of sweat dribbles down the side of Jungkook’s face, rolling right off his skin. And another miserable night. He gently throws his head back against the bathroom wall, his hairline drenched from hour two of hurling in the toilet. He’s drank too much again. Maybe some bad food poisoning in there. But even still, he knows he’s drank too much.
He isn’t abusing the alcohol, really. Not lately. But he knows what it can do to him. He hates it. He hates himself.
He hates this existence.
Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut before he groans to himself, knocking his head back a few more times. What is he doing?
He misses you.
He wants to make things right.
How?
Jungkook wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before trying to stand from the floor. He’s wobbly but he manages. He’s tired and he isn’t sleeping and he can’t because he knows you’re not. This is how he feels like he’s with you, the only real support he can give.
He looks at himself in the mirror, his tired eyes staring back at him. He wants to tell that guy to fuck off, for some reason. He wants to scoff at him and offer him no sympathy. Jungkook wants to raise his hands to that man’s throat and squeeze. He wants to swear at him and curse him. His mouth twists and his eyes grow teary and he sighs. Because all he can do is cry for him.
His head snaps up when the bathroom counter vibrates from his phone. Someone’s texted.
summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.
pairing: jungkook x fem!reader
rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut
word count: 27.7K
chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people.
warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3
chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue
( ← previous | next → )
FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:
Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay
Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down
Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change
Help Them to Help Themselves
Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety
OK . . .
You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.
The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.
Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . .
But . . .
There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to.
It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.
So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.
It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless).
Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him.
That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.
So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.
“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”
Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.
Yeah . . .
It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.
That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)
Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic.
The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS.
Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)
And then it would be your turn.
Actually . . .
You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.
“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.
Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”
You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.
Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”
You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket.
All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.
But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .
(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)
Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.
And that was what always shocked you.
“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.
Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.
Your brows scrunched together. “What?”
But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”
Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.
“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”
“It’s chapstick.”
“Really?”
“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”
Jungkook only grinned.
And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.
“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm.
“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”
“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”
Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”
It was. It actually really was.
“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest.
But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”
Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”
“So I’ve impressed you?”
“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug.
Jungkook snorted. “Well.”
Oh god. No, he didn’t.
Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”
His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought. “Well . . . “
“Kook.”
Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.
“Really?” you deadpanned.
Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”
“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”
And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”
Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—
But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.
Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.
It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar.
“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”
You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.
“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.
“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”
Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”
He nodded. “Really.”
“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”
His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”
A beat of silence.
Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“
“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”
Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”
You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”
“That’s because I can’t.”
“Bullshit.”
“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”
Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.
And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.
(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . .
Supposedly.)
It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face.
“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).
“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”
His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”
A beat of silence.
Another shrug was your only response.
Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”
Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”
“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice.
And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.
“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.
“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.
You raised your head ever so slightly.
To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.
And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.
Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”
You felt yourself grin. “Good.”
The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts.
(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . .
What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.
Whatever.)
And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief.
Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.
It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.
“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.
He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”
Daisy baby. That was a new one.
Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed.
It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again.
It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar.
Did you like it?
You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.
Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.
But what exactly was this?
. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .
Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.
And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“
But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.
The two of you paused.
A beat of silence.
Another knock came.
Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you.
Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)
No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.
“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.
Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.
“What—“
But he was already gone.
His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—
Oh. You blinked in shock.
In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?
Huh?
Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.
Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look.
Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)
That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.
Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“
“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”
Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”
Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”
A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “
As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”
And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be?
With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.
You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.
If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.
If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.
“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “
You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .
Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.
Then . . .
. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.
In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)
And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.
Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!
Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?
But . . . you were . . .
As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.
And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.
“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.
You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”
Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:
“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.
Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.
“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight.
(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))
And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”
Lie.
He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .
But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—
. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.
Until:
“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”
Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone.
“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.
Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him.
He only sent you a knowing grin.
And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.
“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”
You nearly smacked a hand to your face.
“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”
And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.
Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”
“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”
Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”
“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care.
That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.
And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then.
It seemed he always was . . .
That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.
But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.
It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki.
Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care.
It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent?
Were you . . . happy?
And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?
In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . .
A beat of silence.
In it more relief.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat . . .
But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.
You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.
And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.
Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality.
Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him.
Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.
That was weird.
You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?
And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.
Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.
Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.
And you were a step behind him.
“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”
But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.
You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to.
Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.
But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.
So what? You’d find him. You had to.
Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you.
“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.
But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.
Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.
So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!
Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.
“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words.
Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“
The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat.
And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”
A beat of silence.
You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before.
But you really didn’t care.
Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“
But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.
Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”
His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”
“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”
Jimin blinked. “Oh.”
“What?”
“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “
“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”
Another beat of silence.
Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . . in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”
Oh . . .
Don’t say it.
Don’t say—
Don’t—
But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”
Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”
You just had to say it . . .
“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”
With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.
But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.
“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.
Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism.
A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”
Instantly, your heart dropped.
He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.
You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing.
But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.
“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”
And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other.
To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.
It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . .
The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”
His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?
“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “
“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.
It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.
But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”
“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”
You raised your brows. “Why not?”
“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”
And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.
“Is it?”
Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”
But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.
The world stopped.
A beat of silence.
Two beats.
Another.
. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat.
And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.
Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.”
He loved you? He . . .
“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”
Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!
“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”
But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart?
You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.
If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.
That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”
Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin.
Had it reached your heart?
“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason.
Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become.
That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything.
And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done.
Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too.
Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.
And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”
Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.
Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”
Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves.
How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?
“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”
I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it.
But no one was to blame.
No one.
Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.
“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”
Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you?
And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?
“Min?”
The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face.
“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.
That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . .
Wait . . .
Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near.
Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean?
No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No.
Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—
Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . .
And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.
The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”
A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.
It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you.
This could be it.
A new leaf.
For him.
For Jungkook.
For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”
“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”
And you nodded back with a smile.
The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.
You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.
Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would.
Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.
Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.
You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.
Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.
How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.
But you had to try. For him . . .
And then you remembered:
Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:
Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay
Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down
Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change
Help Them to Help Themselves
Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety
But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.
Hesitantly, you took a step forward.
But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?
Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just—
“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.
In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”
I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.
It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.
The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.
“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”
Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”
And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.
It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going.
“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.
But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.
Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.
“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”
Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”
And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . .
His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—
“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory.
Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”
“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.
“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.
“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”
In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.
Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?
The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now.
Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.
Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.
A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed.
Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”
And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”
“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.
Another beat of silence.
And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”
Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.
It is not the moon, I tell you.
It is these flowers
lighting the yard.
As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.
You supposed it would always end this way.
I hate them.
I hate them as I hate sex,
the man’s mouth
sealing my mouth, the man’s
paralyzing body—
And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.
and the cry that always escapes,
the low, humiliating
premise of union—
Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . .
But . . .
In my mind tonight
I hear the question and pursuing answer
fused in one sound
that mounts and mounts and then
is split into the old selves,
the tired antagonisms. Do you see?
We were made fools of.
And the scent of mock orange
drifts through the window.
But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?
How can I rest?
How can I be content
when there is still
that odor in the world?
That odor.
That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.
. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.
But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.
It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.
But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.
Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.
And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.
You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing.
And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.
As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.
Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.
How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?
You were sure you never would.
And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?
Who were you without . . . badminton?
That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?
Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried.
And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia.
You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . .
Those three years . . .
All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.
Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.
Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.
In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more.
The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?
There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.
And you took it every time.
The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?
Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?
You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)
Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.
Anyway.
Focus on the present.
Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.
The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . .
And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—
You checked your phone.
—an hour and a half ago.
It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)
The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too.
But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.
Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring.
It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.
And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.
You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .
“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.
Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.
You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.
“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.
“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.
His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.
And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh.
“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”
With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”
You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear.
And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?
Perhaps . . .
It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life.
But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.
It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.
Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."
And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help.
Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?
God, you wished you knew the answers.
“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.
“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”
And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.
So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.
A beat of silence followed your confession.
The world exhaled.
You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."
Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.
Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”
His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."
And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you.
I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.
Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose.
I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.
"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.
His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.
But you had.
Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.
Haunt me.
Haunt me.
Haunt me.
Give it to me, and breathe.
That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.
Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."
His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”
You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”
That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”
And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.
“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.
And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)
So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.
Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.
It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books?
Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.
It was sweet. Innocent.
It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?
And that was when you realized something . . .
“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.
Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.
How could he ever think he deserved this?
Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”
Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”
And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”
The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.
I’m a better person because of you.
How could I ever be unhappy with that?
And you knew you meant every word.
The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now.
Not here.
Not with him.
When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now.
Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.
You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . .
. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.
Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt.
Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page.
But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.
There’s something soft in me—
You remembered reading long ago.
—we killed it and it’s rotting.
And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.
So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.
Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now.
Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then?
Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway?
. . .
Whatever.
It didn’t mean much, right?
There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . .
With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))
“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air.
Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.
Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”
“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.
You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”
And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.
Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.
So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.
But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.
“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.
(There’s something soft in me—
But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.
—we killed it and it’s rotting.)
So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”
His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “
And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).
While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.
Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.
There’s something soft in me—
we killed it and it’s rotting.
It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.
Off the highway like another deer.
You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.
Off the highway like another girl.
What was . . . this?
It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.
You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—
You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.
But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.
I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.
You needed air. You needed to run.
Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.
But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.
Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”
All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).
But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”
“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?”
You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.
But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.
So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”
And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”
That was it.
I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . .
You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward.
. . . And then you were gone.
Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.
And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived.
A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.
But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.
This wasn’t a fire. Far from it.
It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.
And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.
Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?
It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.
Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.
And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true.
Whatever . . . it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.
That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?
Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . .
“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)
Still . . .
. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.
So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge.
Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.
(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)
His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.
Silence for only a beat more.
And then, he spoke.
“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.
And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?).
Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.
Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”
And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”
Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”
Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.
It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been.
But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.
Fuck.
It really was that, wasn’t it?
You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it.
But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.
So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .
Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “
Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”
“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”
A few beats of silence.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “
Oh.
Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.
But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?
“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.
“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”
Home.
He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future.
It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.
Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.
“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”
Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.
Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)
And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”
There.
Right there.
There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.
What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?
It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought.
And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?
“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”
A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”
Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.
You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .
Until . . .
. . . until him.
And you had no idea how to handle that.
“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.
Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.
“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.
“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”
Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”
Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.
He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”
You swallowed hard.
You’re the one who haunts me.
Oh . . .
And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?
You swallowed hard once again.
“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”
“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . .
“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles. “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”
I want you to help me live.
It echoed in your ears.
I want you to help me live.
I want you to help me live.
I want you to—
Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?
But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.
“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”
Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?
Whatever.
It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words.
OK, he nodded.
OK, he smiled.
OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.
OK.
There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles.
The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.
And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault.
It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant.
But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.
(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)
But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.
You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!
And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.
Then it would be your screams which filled the room.
Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself.
That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash.
. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.
With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.
Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . .
You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.
And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.
But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams.
You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).
Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).
Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).
“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)
“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”
You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?
God . . . what had you turned into?
“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).
Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.
“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”
Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.
Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”
You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.
But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.
Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him.
Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”
Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”
Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . .
But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.
And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”
“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”
“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.
Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”
“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”
Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”
He only laughed.
A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . .
“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.
This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”
“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”
Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)
He wasn’t kidding.
But . . .
“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”
His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”
Oh no.
No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you.
He wanted you to like him back . . .
So then you had—oh, no!
“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”
Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”
“Yes! Obviously!”
“Oh, shit . . . “
And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder
“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”
“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.
His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.
“Obviously.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”
In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”
“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.
Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”
“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”
But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”
“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.
“Mmm.”
Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.
“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )
“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.
And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.
That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.
That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).
A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds.
That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.
Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.
He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.
“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.
“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”
Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.
“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.
He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.
And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.
He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.
“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)
“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.
It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other.
Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.
The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.
It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”
And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.
It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.
But there he was. He was always right there . . .
Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in.
It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.
And it seemed neither could he . . .
"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.
Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"
You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “
His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”
How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?
And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once.
It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features.
(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)
Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?
Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”
And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.
Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.
Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.
“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”
And you knew that was it.
With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.
“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”
“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”
Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.
The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch.
You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.
He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.
Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.
And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . .
“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes.
Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes.
And then . . . then it hit you.
“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”
I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.
Genre: smut, neighbors to lovers (not quite friends but not quite strangers), slow burn, love triangle, Stripper!AU
Rating: M (18+)
Warnings: drinking, references to blow jobs that happened like 60 seconds before the chapter starts, Jungkook's a bit possessive, Jin's a bit jealous, mentions of pregnancy, references to sex, 2021 AMAs Jungkook is the wedding visual, special guest stars Woosung and El Capitxn
Word Count: 7.5k
Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me
Summary: That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!
A/N: Happy two years of Paradise!! 🎉 Two years ago today, I posted the first chapter of what was going to be a five-part series. So to say I can't believe we're here is really no joke!! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, reblogged, sent me asks or DM'd me about this series - this is all because of you! 💜💜💜
Unbeta'd as usual. Please don’t be a silent reader, I’d love to hear from you! Taglist is open. 💕
Previous Chapter ♦️ Paradise Masterlist
Turns out that impulsiveness looks pretty good on you.
Or so you think to yourself, catching your reflection in the mirror of the men’s room as you leave Jungkook to collect himself after giving him the best blow job of his life (your words - although, based on the look on his face as you’d swallowed, you might not be far off).
You hadn’t planned on dragging him into the bathroom like that, but upon seeing him walk out onto the terrace in that grey belted suit, looking like an absolute dream, well, you simply could not help yourself.
You also hadn’t meant to tell him you missed him last night. But you had, because you did. God, when had you turned into this - this massive simp? It was only yesterday morning that you’d woken up in Jungkook’s embrace. You’d barely spent 24 hours apart - so why were you so desperate to get back into his arms?
Of course, none of this matters right now. There are only minutes to go before the ceremony begins, and you need to pull your head out of the clouds and get back to Jennie and the others. Starting by escaping the men’s room sight unseen.
“YN!”
Or not.
As soon as you close the door, you hear Jin’s voice calling to you. He’s standing at the other end of the little hallway, near the entrance to the reception room.
“Hey,” you reply, trying to be the most nonchalant you’ve ever been in your life, as if you weren’t just gagging on Jungkook’s dick in a public bathroom.
Jin smiles as you approach, but there’s a gleam in his eye that makes you nervous, and you’re so busy trying to come up with a valid excuse for why he saw you emerging from the men’s room that you apparently forget how to walk, trip over the hem of your gown, and crash directly against his chest.
“Easy, tiger!” he laughs, arms locking around your back as he helps you stand back upright. “I’m used to ladies throwing themselves at me, but only you’ve taken it literally.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re pretty sure he’s not lying about fighting off admirers, given that he looks like a supermodel in his crisply tailored tuxedo. His bowtie is a little crooked thanks to being squashed by your face during your ungainly landing, so you gently fix it, and Jin thanks you with a soft grin.
“I left my glasses at home, so tell me - did I just see you leav-” Jin suddenly stops in the middle of his sentence, his gaze drifting over your shoulder. “Oh. Nevermind, I see.” He takes a step back, arms falling from your waist.
Another hand slips into yours.
Jungkook didn’t wait very long before following you out of the restroom. He squeezes your hand as you glance at him, but he stares directly at Jin, nostrils flaring slightly, eyes narrowed, lips pursed tightly as if - as if -
Oh, shit.
“You left this behind, jagiya.” Jungkook turns to you, his face shifting into a softer expression as he produces your clutch like some sort of trophy. You must’ve left it on the counter. “Did you want me to hold it during the ceremony?”
Your brain is lagging severely at the moment, trying to process two major facts at once. Fact one: Jin obviously realized that you were with Jungkook in the bathroom. Fact two: you completely forgot to tell Jungkook that Jin would be at the wedding. Which, given the events of the last 24 hours, it’s understandable that it slipped your mind, but this isn’t how you’d expected to officially introduce them. And he doesn’t exactly look thrilled to run into him now.
On top of that, Jungkook has asked you a question. And is now waiting for an answer, while Jin watches in polite silence.
“Um. Yes. Sorry, yes, can you keep an eye on it for me?”
Jungkook nods, tucking the clutch into his jacket and patting it lightly. “Of course,” he says, nodding solemnly, as if you’d just asked him to protect precious goods and not a cheap bag full of tissues and mints.
Jin clears his throat lightly.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Jin, this is Koo- Jungkook. Jungkook, Jin.”
Of all the ways for these two to meet, this might not be the most embarrassing, but it’s definitely up there. There’s still a bit of Jungkook’s taste lingering on your tongue as the two men shake hands, Jin wincing slightly.
You try to quickly fill Jungkook in. “Jin’s the best man.”
“Sure am.” Jin grins.
“He and Yoongi grew up together,” you add, ignoring Jin’s little interjection, knowing that Jungkook didn’t miss it based on the way his jaw flexes violently, as if he’s gnashing his teeth.
“Nice to meet you, Jungkook. That’s quite a grip you have there.” Jin slides his hands into his pockets. “YN’s told me a little about you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Jungkook replies, inclining his head slightly. His hand returns to yours, fingers locking firmly. “Wish I could say the same, but YN never mentions you.”
You try to control your face as you look at Jungkook. What did he just say?
Jin just grins wider. “So… she said you’re a dancer?”
“Yeah, I'm a dancer. But I’m also an artist,” Jungkook replies, chest puffing out slightly.
“Yes! You should see his work, Jin. He’s an incredibly talented painter,” you add, and the corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a smile. “I might actually have a photo on my phone…”
Jungkook doesn’t give you any time to check. “Y’know, I think I’ve heard of you. You’re a cook, right? I think my halmeoni watches your show.”
If Jungkook intended that as a jab, Jin shows no sign that he felt it. “Well, technically, I’m a chef. And a restaurateur. But yes, I do host a successful cooking program - actually, it’s about to be turned into a series for a major network.”
“Right. So like I said. You cook.”
Jin’s the one twitching now, his eyebrow rising slightly at Jungkook’s blasé tone. But rather than looking annoyed, Jin looks amused. Meanwhile, Jungkook is still glowering. You, though? Your smile feels a little strained as you try not to react to the snarky shots being fired off around you. Jungkook seems more rattled than you’d expected by Jin’s presence. You’ve never heard him talk like this.
“You’re right, I do cook a little,” Jin laughs. “I’d like to think I’m pretty good at it. But YN could tell you, since I’ve cooked for her a few times.” He glances at you, the sparkle in his eye you’d noted earlier back and twinkling a little too merrily for your comfort. “From what I remember, she’s been pretty satisfied every time.”
And you’d thought this couldn’t get any more awkward than running into Jin post-beej. How silly of you.
Jungkook’s fingers grip yours tighter. “And yet not satisfied enough to ever bring it up. Huh. Sounds like it was kinda forgettable.”
Jin’s eyes flicker to yours questioningly and you cringe, still struggling to come up with anything to say that could make this conversation less tense. At this point, you’d be better off wishing for the ground to open up beneath you, as useless as your brain is being.
Jin coughs. “Anyway, YN, Yoongi asked me to tell you to tell Jennie that the officiant is running a little late. Nothing to worry about!” he adds hastily upon seeing your concerned face. “Just caught in traffic. But on his way.”
Great, another thing for Jennie to stress out about. “Okay. I’ll let her know.”
Guests are starting to fill up the rows of chairs on the other side of the glass wall. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Lisa heading towards you, waving your bouquet. Thankful for the interruption, you stretch out your hand.
“Come on, we’re cutting it close on time!” she announces. “Hey, what happened to your lipstick?”
“Uh…” Rather than answer, you opt for escape, tugging on Jungkook’s hand lightly to urge him to follow you. “One sec, Lis. Come on, Jungkook, let’s find you a seat.”
“See you at the altar!” Jin calls behind you, and you wince, feeling Jungkook stiffen momentarily.
There’s an empty chair on the end of a row on the bride’s side. Jungkook folds himself into it, placing your clutch delicately on his lap.
“Um, so, we already took photos earlier, so I’ll just come find you after the ceremony.”
“Okay.” Jungkook chews on his bottom lip, nodding.
An unsettling feeling comes over you. Should you apologize for not telling him about Jin? Or say something about what just happened in the hallway? What did just happen, anyway?
Through the glass, you can see Lisa waving, pointing at her watch. Shit. Whatever happened, you’ll just have to talk about it later.
As you turn to leave, Jungkook grabs your wrist. He threads his fingers through yours, pulling you closer to him, until his lips brush your cheek. “See you soon, jagiya.” He gives you another soft smile, sunlight sparkling in his eyes. The angry scowl from the hallway is nowhere to be seen.
Your head is a mess as you follow Lisa. How had you not mentioned to Jungkook that Jin would be here? Damn, maybe he was right - maybe you really never talk about Jin.
Both men had warned you when you started dating them that they could get competitive. Apparently that meant passive aggressive disses and weirdly possessive behavior. If this is how the two of them are going to behave, you’re in for a long day.
A small room cordoned off from the rest of the rooftop restaurant has been turned into the bride’s waiting room. Jisoo’s doing a last pass on Jennie’s makeup when you arrive. She takes one look at you and reaches for a tube of lipstick sitting on the makeshift vanity.
“Babe, what happened to you? You look stressed.”
Rosé hums in agreement. “I expected you to stumble in here looking more satisfied than that. You dragged Jungkook away at lightning speed!”
“Pucker up,” Jisoo orders you, and you obey, letting her fix your lips.
“Mmm, well, I found her talking to both Jungkook and Jin in the hallway, so maybe that has something to do with it?” Lisa pipes up, eyebrow raised.
“Oh shit, did something go down?” Rosé asks, a little too excited for your taste.
“Well, actually,” you start to say, then shake your head. This is the last thing you need right now. This day is too important to be derailed by your love life. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Oh, but Jin did say that the officiant’s running a little late, Jennie. He’s on his way, so there’s no need to panic, but the ceremony might start a few minutes later than planned.”
“Oh, see, Jennie? I told you there was no reason to worry - now you’re not the only one who’s late!”
“Jisoo!” Lisa hisses. Rosé covers her mouth to suppress her giggles.
Jennie, who has been sitting silently since you walked in, inspecting her appearance in the makeup mirror, lets out a strangled sound that’s a cross between a laugh and a wail, and buries her face in her hands.
“Girl, please do not make me fix your makeup again,” Jisoo pleads as she crouches next to Jennie. You pull up a chair next to her and sigh, rubbing Jennie’s arm lightly.
“Ji’s lame attempts at humor aside, how are you feeling?” you ask.
Your best friend is absolutely radiant in her white gown, dark hair tumbling in gentle waves down her back as she turns to you.
“I’m still okay. I know things were a little… dramatic yesterday, but really, I’m okay today. You guys don’t have to keep asking me how I’m feeling.” Jennie clasps your hands, giving you a soft smile. “I’m excited and I’m nervous but more than all of that I’m ready to marry the love of my life.” She pauses. “I think maybe I should use the bathroom again, though. I guess I have some time.”
“I’ll help you,” Lisa volunteers, gathering Jennie’s train and following her out of the room.
You’re quiet until the door closes behind them. “Okay, was anyone else expecting her to freak out about the ceremony starting late?”
“She’s keeping it together, somehow,” Jisoo shrugs. “I think she’s still a bit in shock, honestly. But she’ll be okay.”
“She’s fine, as long as no one mentions anything about the you-know-what,” Rosé informs you, crossing her arms as she glares at Jisoo.
“You don’t have to censor yourself when she’s not in the room.” Jisoo rolls her eyes.
Your friends fall into their usual bickering, but you’re too deep in your thoughts about Jennie to bother telling them to knock it off. Maybe Jisoo’s right and she’s still adjusting. Just another reason to try to stay focused on her and make sure everything goes perfectly for her and Yoongi.
It’s the least you can do for your friend, after the day she had yesterday.
Yesterday
Friday morning brings you a sweet surprise. You weren’t expecting to wake up with Jungkook in your bed. He spent most of the night making you forget all about Taehyung’s joking offer to drop to his knees at your promise to help him, doing such a good job that you’d almost forgotten your own name, too. You’d figured he’d slip out in the middle of the night after you’d fallen asleep.
You were wrong. He’s still here, all messy bedhead and sleepy eyes, laughing quietly about alarm clocks and wrapping you up in his arms. He follows you like a puppy as you start your morning routine - into the shower, back into your room, and then into your kitchen - and honestly it’s no wonder that you decide to take the day off to spend it with him. The thought of repeating yesterday and hanging out with him all day is too tempting to refuse. Even though you’ll see him pretty much all day tomorrow at the wedding - look, if he’s down for it, then why not?
And then somehow the universe decides that your day has only been maybe a solid eight out of ten so far and decides to kick it up a few more notches, by offering you a possible life boat off the sinking ship that is your job.
Hey YN!
I know this is ridiculously fast, but my company has an opening, and I think you’d be great for the job! Long story short someone unexpectedly quit yesterday, so now we have a position we need to fill immediately. I hope it’s okay, but I’ve given your name to our VP in charge of hiring and she’d like to bring you in for an interview! She asked me to reach out and see if you’d be all right with coming in next week - I know that’s fast, but this is for a new project that’s being rushed to production so we really need someone to crunch some numbers ASAP!
Let me know if you’re interested!
Best,
Wendy
As if that’s not enough, Jungkook offers to help you practice for the interview, and suddenly you can’t see through the hearts in your eyes. Could he be any sweeter? You thank him, and he kisses you, and you melt, lost in his warmth.
Jungkook’s voice brings you back to reality. “How many more emails do you need to answer?”
“Um…” you stare at your laptop. “Let me just respond to Wendy and then I’m done.”
“Cool.” Jungkook stretches. His t-shirt rises with the motion, his Adonis belt briefly visible, and you know he’s caught your stare when he smirks. You quickly turn back to your computer, but he just wraps his arms around your shoulders, catching you in a back hug.
“I’m gonna go home and take off these dirty clothes,” he murmurs, teeth nipping your earlobe. “Come find me when you’re done. I’ll be waiting.”
“Fuck,” you breath. Jungkook laughs, obviously pleased at the effect he has on you. He’s such a tease sometimes. You’re trying to figure out how to flip the tables on him when your ringtone starts trilling.
Be still, my heaaaaart…
“Oh god, I bet that’s my boss, wanting to talk me out of taking off.” You frown as you check the screen. “Shit, it’s Jisoo. I gotta take this.”
“Hey, do you have a second?” Jisoo’s voice comes through a little strained. And loud. She’s talking over some sort of high-pitched wailing. It takes you a minute to figure out that it’s a person’s voice making that sound.
“Ji! What’s going on? Wait, what’s that sound? Is that Jennie? Is she crying?”
“Yeah, that’s Jennie. She’s - she’s had - well,” Jisoo sighs. “Look, I’m over at her place because I wanted to treat her to a manicure today because I know she’s been too busy to schedule one and you know how she gets about her nails so I thought it would be a nice surprise but when I got here - oh, you know what, this is not important to the story, why am I telling you this?”
“Just get to the point, Ji!”
“I’m trying! I’m sorry, it’s been a big morning and - what?” There’s a muffled conversation happening suddenly, and you stare blankly at your computer as you wait for Jisoo to return. You don’t know what the hell is going on, but you don’t like any of it.
“Just ask her to come over!” you hear Lisa say in the background. Lisa’s at Jennie’s, too?
“I was getting to that!”
With a frustrated sigh, you try to get Jisoo’s attention. “Okay, okay, I’m coming over!”
“Do you mind? I know you have to work-”
“No, I’m not working today, I….” You pause, knowing that Jungkook’s just in the kitchen, likely able to hear everything you’re saying, not wanting to embarrass yourself by admitting that you took the day off just to be with him. “It’s a long story, I’ll explain when I get there.”
You don’t end up explaining anything once you arrive. That’s because as soon as Lisa opens Jennie’s door, she greets you with a tiny white stick bearing two little pink lines. Rosé is right behind her, beaming from ear to ear.
“Oh my god.”
“I know!” Lisa grins, throwing her hands in the air. “Baby Min, coming to you soon!”
You frown, glancing over Lisa’s shoulder. “Where is she?”
The sound of Jennie’s crying gets louder as you approach the master suite. When Lisa stops outside the bedroom closet, you grab her arm.
“Before I go in there - are those happy tears or sad tears?” You’re pretty sure you already know the answer, but you need to know what to expect.
Lisa grimaces. “Somewhere in the middle, I think.”
Jennie’s curled up beneath the hangers of clothing stuffed into the closet that she shares with Yoongi. She’s wearing one of his oversized hoodies, sniffling into the black material as Jisoo, smushed into the corner beside her, carefully untangles herself.
“Tag, you’re in,” she says, taking the hand you offer to pull her to her feet.
There’s not a lot of room for you but you squish yourself in as best you can, and immediately tuck Jennie against you. Jisoo closes the door behind you.
“Hi, babe.”
“Hi,” Jennie’s voice is wavery and small, so far from her usual confident, cheerful tone, that it hurts your heart. “Did they tell you?”
“I saw.”
Jennie settles against you, hiccuping slightly through her tears. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”
“I know.”
Jennie has been mapping out her and Yoongi’s future pretty much since the day they met. They both want to start a family, but Jennie insists that they enjoy their honeymoon period first. And she’s determined to make tenure at the school where she teaches before taking time off to have kids. She wants to have it all, but at her own pace and on her own terms. Which means timing everything out so meticulously. So carefully.
Gently, you brush a lock of hair from her wet cheek. “So… do you know how…”
Jennie sighs. “Pretty sure it was the night of my bachelorette party. I came home and Yoongi asked how it went and um, I kinda couldn’t stop talking about my lap dance.” Your friend’s face flushes at the memory, and you bite back a grin. You’ll have to tell Jungkook he left a lasting impression. “And Yoongi… well, you know how he gets competitive sometimes?”
You can’t help it. You burst into laughter.
“Yoongi gave you a lap dance?!”
“God, I wish I’d seen that,” Jisoo says from the other side of the closet door. “I’d love to know if he’s got moves.”
In all your years of friendship, you’d never known Yoongi to do more than a simple side-shuffle whenever Jennie would drag him onto a dance floor. The thought of him performing an erotic lapdance is too much for even your overactive imagination to conceive.
Jennie just smiles to herself. “Believe me, he does.” She glances at you shyly. “He’d kill me for telling you this but… you don’t think Jin choreographed his routine all by himself, do you?” she laughs, referring to the night Jin danced for you, and your brain breaks a little trying to picture Yoongi doing the same moves.
The closet door flies open.
“I’m gonna need to hear every last detail about that,” Lisa proclaims.
“Same,” Rosé adds, and Jennie laughs for the first time since you arrived. She sits up, dabbing at her face with the sleeves of Yoongi’s hoodie.
“Ugh, my face is going to be so puffy tomorrow.”
“No, it won’t. We’ll take care of you,” Jisoo promises, already on her feet. “I’ll go raid your kitchen for supplies. Do you have any cucumbers?” She’s gone before Jennie can answer, Lisa scrambling behind her.
“Anyway… we always use protection, but you know how they say it’s not 100% foolproof? Yeah, turns out they’re telling the truth.” She stares at her sweater paws, suddenly forlorn again, and you give her a tight squeeze.
“I’m sorry, babe. I know this is… a lot.”
“Yeah. And I just…” You don’t say anything, just wait patiently until she finds the words she’s searching for. “I just feel like a failure. You know? Like, it’s so stupid, but…” She shrugs. “I feel like everything’s ruined now.”
“Oh, Jennie, no!” Wrapping both arms around her, you sigh. “Accidents happen. That’s life! You can make all the plans you want but you can’t control everything. There’s chaos everywhere! And even if you do your best to avoid it, sometimes it gets through. And it’s not always bad! I mean… look at me and Jungkook. He came out of nowhere. I didn’t plan to start dating him and Jin at the same time. I didn’t know it was gonna get serious. I thought…” you trail off, realizing you’re making it about yourself. “Sorry, this is not about me.”
“No, it’s ok, finish your thought. Tangents and diversions are good right now,” Jennie informs you.
You bite your lip, weighing your words. “Back when Jin and I met, when you introduced us, I just thought… this is it. This is my chance to have what Jennie and Yoongi have. Something real. Something safe and steady.”
Jennie nods, encouraging you to continue.
“And then Jungkook… he’d always been so close but I’d never gotten to know him. He came in and opened my eyes to another possibility. To something exciting and different and - and passionate, and, oh god, I sound like a shitty romance novel, don’t I?” Burying your face in your hands, you laugh.
“No, go on!!” Rosé says.
“I’m just trying to say - plans don’t always work out. But that doesn’t mean you’re a failure. And sometimes, the unexpected can be exactly what you want. Or need.”
Jennie sighs, and you can feel her relaxing against you for the first time since you sat down beside her.
“I hear what you’re saying. And I’d like to believe that. It’s just… really difficult for me to accept that I’m not always in control.”
“That’s a fucking mood,” Jisoo says, returning from the kitchen with a mug of tea in her hand. Lisa carries a bowl of some sort of cucumber concoction, and the two of them settle on the floor outside the closet.
Rosé scoots across the carpet until she’s close enough to take one of Jennie’s hands. “Back to your chaos, if that’s what we’re calling it. Is it too soon to ask you what you’re gonna do?”
Jennie groans, pulling the oversized hood over her head.
“I’m gonna take that as a yes.”
“I just want to get through the wedding,” Jennie states, voice muffled by the soft fabric. “I’m getting married tomorrow! And I don’t want anything to - to ruin it. Or make things weird, or more stressful than they already are. I mean, fuck, I think my halmeoni is already upset that we’re not doing a traditional wedding. Imagine if she finds out I got knocked up before marriage!”
“Okay, then we’ll make sure no one finds out tomorrow.” Lisa glances at everyone and you all nod in a wordless pact. “We’ll do whatever it takes to make sure your day is as perfect as you’ve planned. You know we will!”
“Does Yoongi know?”
Jennie peels her hood back to look at you. She shakes her head.
“I took the test this morning, after he left for work. I’ve been so busy lately that I didn’t even realize I was late until today! Ji was the first person to find out when she showed up, and then she called the rest of you.” She pauses, fiddling with her sleeves again. “I think I’m going to wait to tell him until after the wedding. We’ll need to have a serious talk, and there’s too much going on right now.” She glances up. “Is that - do you think that’s okay?”
Once again, she seems lost. This time, when you go in for a hug, Rosé joins you.
“Babe, you can tell him whenever you’re ready! It’s your body.”
“Yeah, but we’re in this together…”
“And you’ll be in it together still, no matter if you tell him today or tomorrow or next week.” Jisoo declares. She holds the mug out to Jennie. “And we’ll be here too.”
“Yes. Maybe this is good chaos. Maybe it’s bad. It’s up to you to decide how to react - how to move forward. Whatever you decide, you know we’ll be by your side the whole time,” you declare, your sentiments echoed by the other girls.
Jennie blows lightly on the steaming drink. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you guys,” she says, choking up slightly, and everyone else starts talking at once.
“You deserve the world!” Rosé coos.
Lisa shakes her head. “We’re the lucky ones, babe, having you in our lives!”
“How’m I gonna depuff your face if you keep crying?” Jisoo tuts.
You just rise to your feet, laughing. “Come on. Ji said something about manicures earlier. Let us pamper you today, so you’re ready to knock Yoongi off his apparently very talented feet tomorrow.”
NOW
The officiant is only a few minutes late, and the ceremony goes off without a single hitch. You and the other bridesmaids join the groomsmen flanking Yoongi at the altar. In addition to Jin, there’s Yoongi’s brother Geum-jae, and two of his friends from work, Yi-jeong and Woosung.
As a string quartet plays the wedding march, Jennie walks down the aisle, beaming more brightly than the sun, and you catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s face, bearing such an openly reverent expression that it makes your eyes flood with tears. The officiant begins his speech, and Jennie and Yoongi stare at one another as if the rest of the world has fallen away, with nothing left but the two of them and their love.
Watching them almost feels like you’re intruding on a private moment, so you turn your face to the rows of guests, searching without thought for Jungkook, smiling when you find him already gazing your way. Your chest nearly buzzes as warmth spreads there, matching the glow in his eyes.
Because Jennie and Yoongi chose to take photos before the ceremony, there’s no cocktail hour after the ceremony. Instead, everyone is seated for dinner. The happy couple sits at a table for two on a small dais in the front of the room.
There are no tables large enough for the entire wedding party. There are also no seating arrangements for all of you, either. Jennie had worked very hard on the seating chart for all of the guests except the wedding party. (“You guys figure it out. I’m tired.”) So you quickly claim a seat at one of the two empty tables left open, with Jungkook taking the spot next to you on one side and Jisoo the other, with Rosé next to her.
As the wait staff brings out the first course, you slide your chair a little closer to Jungkook. “Hey. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that Jin would be here.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure it is,” you reply. “That was not the way I wanted to introduce the two of you. It was, uh, not ideal.”
Jungkook’s silent as he sips his water. He works his bottom lip between his teeth again, and you wish you could see inside his head, could get some sense of what he’s thinking, because sitting here waiting for him to say something makes your stomach churn a bit.
Finally, he sighs, reclining back in his seat as he looks at you. “I’m sorry if I made that uncomfortable. I wasn’t expecting to see him.”
“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t mention he was part of the wedding. Truly, it slipped my mind.” Repeatedly. You bite your lip, struggling to figure out what to say. This doesn’t have to be a thing, but you also don’t want them at each other’s throats all night. “But there’s no reason it has to be weird or ruin the night. Because I’m here with you, Kookie. Not him.”
Your pulse begins to pound. It’s like you’ve just laid your heart on the line. Jungkook’s furrowed brows relax, doe eyes blinking slowly as he absorbs your words.
“Is this seat taken?”
You turn to find Jin standing with a hand on the empty chair across from you.
Jisoo lets out a tiny “Yessss, game on,” and you covertly kick her under the table.
“Uh, I think Lisa is going to -” Glancing around, you don’t finish your sentence as you spy your friend sitting with the groomsmen. Oh, right. Lisa has her eye on Yi-jeong, having basically all but explicitly called dibs that morning when she saw him in his tuxedo. You can’t really blame her. “Nevermind.”
“Please, join us,” Jungkook offers, gesturing to the table. He says it so kindly that you can’t help but gawk at him in surprise. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but his palm rests on your thigh, rubbing lightly. Reassuringly.
Your heartbeat returns to normal as Jin smiles. “Thanks.”
Despite the ceremony being so modern, Jennie and Yoongi opted for more traditional dishes for dinner. For several minutes, there’s mostly an easy silence over the table, as everyone enjoys the janchi guksu and banchan in front of them, only the noise of clinking utensils filling the air. Well, that and the sound of the servers running back and forth to the bar, trying to keep up with drink orders.
Jisoo, as usual, is the first one to break the silence.
“Okay, Jin, professional opinion on the guksu?”
Jin chews thoughtfully for a few minutes. “I think they went a little heavy on the spicy soy sauce in the broth, but the noodles are just as tender as the ones I make. Oh, but you’ve had my noodles, YN, what do you think? Do they compare?”
All eyes focus on you, including Jungkook’s. You swallow quickly. “Um, I think these are just as good! And I really like the broth, to be honest.”
“You do like it spicy,” Jungkook murmurs under his breath, quiet enough that only you can hear him, and when you glance over, you’re met with that teasing smirk of his. It’s back again. For some reason, that’s more comforting to you than Jungkook’s hand on your thigh. Your heart does a somersault. It’s getting a real workout tonight.
“You know, I never really thought about it, but it must be hard for you to eat in public. People are probably always asking you for your opinions on their food, or tips on how to make it better,” Rosé says.
Jin shrugs. “Comes with the territory, I guess. I’m not gonna complain if people value what I think - and I’m always happy to help anyone improve their skills.” He swirls his wine glass before taking a sip. “But I suppose there can be a downside, too. Sometimes I just want to enjoy a meal without being asked to provide a full critique.”
“I can understand that,” Jungkook replies. Again the other heads at the table swivel.
“You can?”
Jungkook nods. “Yeah. Like, right now, I bet you’re all expecting me to be the first on the dance floor, right?” He laughs as everyone suddenly becomes very interested in their meals. “It’s okay. That’s how it is whenever I’m out with friends. I can’t just sit at the bar and have a drink. And I definitely can’t just sway with the crowd. Everyone expects me to show off.”
“I mean, I’m definitely hoping to see you turn up,” Rosé confirms, and Jungkook laughs again, gesturing at his point being proven.
“Sure, that sounds annoying. But outside of going out with your friends, how often are you in a situation where you’re asked to dance? People stop me everywhere. When I’m out shopping. When I’m on a plane. I even once had someone ask me for deglazing tips while I was at a funeral! It’s not quite the same as being asked to do the robot at the club.” Jin shakes his head dismissively.
Rosé mumbles, “I thought you weren’t gonna complain…?”
The two men eye each other for a few seconds as you hold your breath. Then Jungkook huffs out a laugh.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s not the same. That sucks, dude.”
You exhale, settling back in your seat.
Jin just hums, eyes darting back and forth between you and Jungkook before he speaks. “I suppose it’s just a small price to pay for being so successful.” He tips his wine glass back, emptying it. “Where are the servers hiding? I need a refill.”
“See, this is one of the benefits of being a financial analyst - absolutely no one wants to talk to me about what I do,” you grin.
“That’s because no one understands what you do,” Jisoo declares.
“She’s right.”
“Thanks, Rosé.”
Jisoo points her spoon at Jungkook. “Okay, but real talk, you are going to dance tonight, aren’t you? You wouldn’t deny us a show!”
“Ji, we just had an entire conversation about this!” you groan, throwing your hands up. “Can you not?”
“What? I’m just saying! The man is a born performer. Right?”
She looks at Jungkook, who nearly chokes on his wine in his haste to answer.
“Uh. Yes?”
“Right. So there’s no way you’ll leave us disappointed.”
“Let me get this straight - if Jungkook doesn’t dance for you, you’ll be disappointed?” you ask. “Hold on while I call Jimin and Taehyung real quick. Wait, sorry, I mean Min and Tae.”
“All I know is suffering,” Jisoo sighs.
“Oh, relax, Kitty Cat,” Rosé giggles, nearly doubling over at the confused look on Jin’s face.
As Jisoo loudly laments her choice of friends, Jungkook bends towards you, mouth brushing your ear.
“Don’t worry, jagi, whether or not I dance here, you can still have a private performance later. I’d never deny you.”
Heat works its way through your body as you shift in your seat, squirming slightly from the low rumble of his voice and the promise laced within. There’s a sudden prickling at the nape of your neck, that nagging sensation of someone watching you, but when you follow the feeling and glance over at Jin, he’s staring at his empty wine glass.
The tapping of a fork against stemware draws your attention to the married couple’s table. To your immense relief, Yoongi and Jennie had decided to nix the best man and maid of honor toasts, opting to say a few words themselves. Normally, Jennie does all the talking for the pair, but to your surprise, Yoongi rises to his feet, and the room falls silent.
“Jennie and I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you for coming. It means the world to us that you took the time out of your busy lives to celebrate with us.” He glances down at his bride, who smiles back, and Yoongi’s gummy grin gets bigger than you’ve ever seen it. “As you all know, Jennie and I have been together since our first year of college. We’ve been through so much together - college, grad school, finding jobs, losing jobs, moving from apartment to apartment - but we weathered it all, because we always had each other.”
Jennie’s cheeks are wet as she smiles at her husband. Yoongi takes her hand.
“Jennie, I don’t know what life has to throw at us yet, but I want you to know that I’m never worried, as long as I have you by my side.” He presses a kiss to the back of her hand, and there’s a chorus of awwww’s from the guests, including yourself. Jisoo rolls her eyes, but they’re already spilling over with tears, and you poke her in the side as she laughs.
“Here’s to you, my love. And to all of you with us here tonight. We can’t thank you enough for your love and support. Geonbae!” He raises his glass.
“Cheers!” his brother shouts, and the cry is echoed around the room as everyone raises their glasses to the couple.
Just when you think you couldn’t be happier, once again you feel a hand slip into yours, pressing palm to palm, fingers threading through. Jungkook doesn’t say a word, too busy clinking his drink against everyone else’s, but his hand tightens around yours when you look at him, and you feel as though you could float right through the ceiling if it weren’t for his strong grip.
To think that you nearly hadn’t asked him to come here with you. What a mistake that would’ve been. Thank god you’d ignored the constant fear and doubt in your head and listened only to the steady sureness of your heart.
You’re getting better at it.
YESTERDAY
After you coax her out of the closet, you and your friends turn Jennie’s apartment into a mini spa, trying to help the bride-to-be relax. By mid-afternoon, as everyone is giving each other manicures, you realize that the window on your day with Jungkook is swiftly closing, so you text him to let him know you won’t be coming home any time soon.
Not long after that, the door to Jennie’s apartment opens, and Yoongi walks in, trailed by Jin.
Jennie greets her fiancé happily, hugging him with her hands held straight out so as not to smudge her pretty new pink tips. “You’re home early!”
“Couldn’t focus. Decided to call it a day.” As ever, Yoongi seems completely unfazed to see you and your friends at his apartment. Sometimes you wonder what it would take to ruffle him. Probably something extreme like the zombie apocalypse. “Figured I’d grab my stuff and then get some dinner with Jin.”
Although they weren’t holding to every tradition, Jennie had insisted that they spend the night before the wedding apart. So Yoongi would be crashing at Jin’s tonight.
Jin nods at the sound of his name. “By ‘get some dinner’, he means ‘take advantage of his friend’s restaurant and score a free meal.’”
“As if you weren’t the one who offered,” Yoongi drawls, ignoring Jin’s squeaky chuckling.
“Sounds good, baby,” Jennie smiles as Yoongi presses a kiss to her cheek before he shuffles down the hallway towards their bedroom. “Do you guys wanna get some takeout?”
While Lisa, Rosé, and Jennie argue about what they feel like eating, Jin catches your eye. “Hey, you got a second?” He jerks his head towards Jennie’s kitchen. Rising from the couch, you follow, closing the door behind you.
“What’s u-oh!” Your question becomes an exclamation when Jin suddenly pulls you in for a hug, long arms wrapping around your waist as he holds you tight.
“Just wanted to get you alone,” he says, nose brushing yours as he smiles. “Hi.”
This is where the butterflies should come in. Standing this close to this incredible specimen of a man, this paragon of perfection, would normally send them flittering through you. Shivers should be running down your spine. Any number of excited reactions should be happening right now.
Right.
Now.
Except… they’re not.
“Hi,” you echo, grinning a bit weakly. Jin doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong with your smile, locking his hands behind your back.
“I heard you got some good news today.”
Your eyes widen as your stomach goes into freefall.
“You know?”
How? How on earth could he know about Jennie being pregnant?? Shit, did Lisa leave the pee stick out somewhere? Jisoo told her to put it -
“Of course I know! It’s my show.”
“It’s your show?” What the fuck does that mean??
Jin honks in delighted laughter at your obvious confusion. “The interview Wendy emailed you about - that’s for my show! The one Nosh picked up?”
The room tilts as gravity returns your stomach to normal. “Oh! Oh, wow!” Of course. The new project Wendy had referenced - it was Jin’s cooking show! “Wait, so we might be working together?”
“Yes! Er, maybe! I don’t know how closely or whatever, but basically, the Nosh execs told me Wendy’s firm is responsible for budgeting and figuring out revenue streams and - and that’s really all I remember, sorry.” He laughs. “Most of what they said went straight over my head, to be honest. But I spoke to her on a conference call today and she told me they had an open position for the team that’s assigned to my show, and she’d asked you to interview.”
“Wow, that’s really…” you trail off, lost in thought. “Isn’t it… the other night at the networking reception, weren’t you saying it might be a travel show?” You have a vague memory of Jin telling you what he wanted to do with his show if it got picked up by a network.
“That’s right. I pitched it as an exploration of local delicacies that often get overlooked by tourists. I’ll be going around the country, visiting tiny, off the beaten path restaurants and bars, and learning how to make their favorite dishes.”
Traveling for work. That was one of the perks Wendy had rattled off when she’d given you the sales pitch for her company. So, if you got this job, did that mean you’d be traveling with Jin?
Your mind is already wandering, thinking about what this new job might entail, when Jin brings a hand up to cup your face. His thumb traces your jawline.
“Wouldn’t it be amazing? You and I, on the road together. Me, discovering new meals to cook for you…” His voice drops, a low murmur meant only for you to hear. “Maybe picking up some new dance moves to show off…”
He rolls his hips slightly, jostling you right out of your tumultuous thoughts.
“Doesn’t that sound good?”
“It does,” you reply, mouth moving on autopilot, not waiting for your head to decide if it agrees.
“I know I haven’t had the time to take you out properly, and I’m sorry for that. But this is my chance to show you that I’m still in this.” He sucks in a deep breath. “I like you. And I’m hoping it’s not too late for me to say that.”
If this were a romantic movie, the music would swell now, strings soaring as he tips your mouth towards his. It’s a perfect moment, lush lips caressing yours, sweet and unhurried, lingering like he doesn’t care if anyone else walks in.
It’s a perfect moment, for sure. Just, not for you.
“Jin,” you begin, stepping out of his embrace, “I need to tell you something.”
A/N Pt. 2: To be continued!! (Sorry, the chapter was getting a bit long and this felt like a natural stopping point… what do we think so far??)
Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.
"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."
"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.
warnings for this part: if it wasn't clear before, i don't know how law enforcement really works so i made my own 🤪 there aren't anything serious in this part, just a bit of sexism. well, jk is still very hot 😅
For the next three days, you’re entirely focused on the Jung house. The goal of surveying it can be divided into two; find out when it’s empty and which window isn’t hooked up to a sensor.
Thanks to Jeongguk, you know that the men all get together at Kim Namjoon’s house on Thursdays to play poker, but what complicates it is that Jeongguk is supposed to attend it as well. Additionally, you don’t know what Eunha’s doing at that time, either.
The majority of those three days, you spend on the top floor with your binoculars. It’s more what you’re used to anyway; observing from a distance.
Sure, occasionally, it gets boring, but the nice thing about investigating a feline and its window preferences is that it doesn’t matter if you take a five minute break or ten.
Additionally, you don’t have to spend a lot of time with Jeongguk, who’s out befriending the male neighbors. If anyone asks about you, he’s supposed to tell them you’re feeling a bit under the weather.
Besides, the atmosphere between the two of you since you returned from the barbeque has been… odd.
After you got back to your house, you stiffly explained what you’d found out, and you planned loosely for the coming days, but neither mentioned what happened at the Jung’s. You touched him, and then you slept in his arms. You cringe just thinking about it. Perhaps it plays a part in why you’re even less enthusiastic about seeing him. ‘Perhaps’ meaning ‘definitely.’ Luckily Jeongguk didn’t bring it up to tease you about it, he spoke almost neutrally to you about the plan but in between sentences, he looked to be trapped inside his mind.
At five p.m on that third day, your conclusion so far is that although the white, incredibly fluffy cat sometimes is seen through any of the windows facing the street, its preferred squirrel-watching window is most likely facing the backyard.
The result is both good and bad. Bad because you’ll have to find a way to observe the back of the Jung house, good because entering through a window on the front would be so much riskier.
To your disappointment–even if you knew three days is a very short time–the only sort of pattern regarding Eunha’s late night activities that you’ve managed to discern is that she basically just stays home.
Speaking of Eunha, at five-thirty p.m., you watch through the window as she walks up the short driveway to your door with Hyeji in tow. Assuming Jeongguk is still with Fenrir in the backyard, you rush downstairs to greet your new neighbors.
“Hey, heard you weren’t feeling well, are you better?” Eunha asks the moment you slide the door open.
“Hello, uh, yes. I thought I was coming down with a cold but it stopped at a sore throat and a bit of a cough.”
“That’s good to hear,” Hyeji pipes up from behind her friend, “Eunha baked you cookies!”
Smiling shyly, Eunha nods and hands you the plastic container she’d been holding.
“Oh, there’s no need–thank you,” you bow politely, realizing that they won’t take no for an answer. The container is white with a red lid, impossible to see through.
“It’s no problem, I was baking anyways, but I thought of you.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” you smile, unable to keep your heart from warming. Eunha and Hyeji are about your own age, but you feel undeniably like a teenager getting fed at grandma’s.
“Like I said; no problem,” she dismisses with a casual wave of her hand. “By the way, how are you settling in?”
“Well,” you start, placing a hand on the door frame and glancing back over your shoulder as if you’re not a hundred percent aware of the state of your barren house. “We’ve gotten the bedroom mostly in order and the kitchen. There was a problem with the moving company we hired, so the last trucks won’t be here for another day or two. But we can eat and sleep, and we have our couch and TV, so we’ll survive!”
Hyeji rises to her toes in a subtle attempt at getting a look inside. “I don’t wanna come off as prying, but… do you think we could get a look inside? The previous owners were such hermits, but we saw them doing some sort of remodeling inside, and, well, we’re curious as to what they had changed.”
“Oh, uh… sure,” you smile nervously, realizing that declining would seem suspicious.
Dashing through all the rooms in your head, you don’t think there’s anything incriminating left visible. You’ve made it a habit to not leave your binoculars and notepad out when taking a break, usually dropping them in the nightstand drawer if in the bedroom. The listening devices you hope to somehow place inside the Jungs’ house someday are still packed away in Jeongguk’s suitcase under the bed.
The women step inside, and you follow them as they look around, still holding the cookies to your chest.
“Where’s Jaehyun?” Eunha looks back at you.
“Who?” you respond absentmindedly before it hits you.
“Jaehyun? Your husband?”
“Oh! I didn’t hear you,” you lie, hoping it sounds believable and not like you don’t know your husband’s name. “He’s probably playing some ball with Fenrir out back.”
The involuntary tour begins with the living room, and you let them feel the fabric of your couch, lying when Hyeji asks what brand and material it is–you wouldn’t know, you didn’t buy it.
“What kind of curtains are you planning?”
Looking up at the cold walls around your gray couch, you improvise, not knowing if the furniture truck even contains curtains, much less what color.
“Well, we have a couple different ones; I like to rotate them, but… light ones, probably? White or some kind of cold beige?”
As if picturing the drapes, Hyeji and Eunha both listen, humming quietly in agreement.
“Yeah, that would fit nicely with the table too. Clean, I like it.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you mind if we look upstairs?”
Although still nervous, you shake your head, knowing there’s nothing weird for them to stumble upon. “No, no, go ahead.”
“Are you sure? We don’t want to intrude.”
“It’s okay, I definitely understand being curious,” you smile sweetly.
One after the other, you ascend the stairs, you at the very end. During the way up, you hope that they won’t ask about the lone chair at the window in the empty bedroom. It's what you’ve been using whenever Jeongguk’s been occupying the furnished bedroom but you’ve still had to observe the house across the street.
Luckily, it’s possible to explain, and you can just claim to have used it to check the ceiling light socket or something.
The furnished bedroom is the one closest to the stairs and therefore the room Eunha enters first.
“Oh, this is nice!” she exclaims, twirling slowly to get a feel of the whole room. “Does Fenrir not sleep with you? I’m just wondering how you manage to keep it clean with a dog that size? Although I love light colors like these, I’d never dare have them with an animal in the house.”
You laugh along with her, “No, he does sometimes, but usually, he sleeps in his own bed–which hasn’t arrived yet–but at the moment, he prefers the couch, to be honest. I think it gets too hot for him to sleep with us.”
“Oh, I bet,” you hear Hyeji snicker from behind. It gathers Eunha’s attention.
Confused, you turn around, the color leaving your face–or more like rushing to it–when Hyeji lifts the metal handcuffs off the dresser with her finger. You hadn’t seen them beside the black shirt of Jeongguk’s, lying thrown onto the surface.
“Oh, uh..” you stammer, watching her inspect them.
“These look so real,” she eyes them wide-eyed before her eyes travel to something else on the dresser, “And, uh, this…?”
To your horror, it’s not only his handcuffs that Jeongguk has left out in plain sight.
Eunha blinks with her eyebrows raised slightly, “Is that a… baton?”
“Oh, those….” you step forward, your cheeks warmer than in a long, long time, and you take them gently from the hands of a grinning Hyeji, “belong in the special drawer. I, uh, got them for him a while back. You know, a man in uniform…”
It fucking pains you, having to embarrass yourself due to Jeongguk’s fucking carelessness. He might as well have left his gun and police badge out for anyone to see.
“You know, I can’t even blame you, honestly,” Hyeji smirks as you open the dresser with blazingly warm cheeks to shove the baton into it. “I didn’t take you as the role-playing type, but with a man like that?”
“Yoongi’s crazy hot too, though,” Eunha points out, and you definitely have to agree. Although not as cold and imposing appearance wise as Jeongguk, Yoongi is a hell of a looker. Possibly also part of a criminal community, but you don’t have any concrete evidence for that yet.
“Yeah, of course, but he’s not into that kind of stuff. But I bet Hobi is,” Hyeji’s smirk grows wider, and she wiggles her eyebrows.
To be fair, Hoseok, Hobi, is also incredibly hot, and he certainly doesn’t lack authority. Honestly, you could throw him into the station and he’d fit right in, who knows what some of those police officers have done behind closed doors?
Eunha blushes. “I know Hobi looks… dominating, but we don’t really engage in those… dynamics. I respect people who do,” she chuckles and nods toward you (please, God, if there’s ever a fitting time for a freak accident to annihilate you), “but that’s just not us.”
Me neither, you want to shout, but painfully enough, you can’t. Instead, you’re searching your brain for a way to change the topic in a natural way.
“I know that J–Jaehyun’s hot and that he can look stern and intimidating, and although I enjoy… that side of him, as you know now,” you chuckle while breathing through the pain, “he’s… so much more than that. He’s sweet and kind, and he’s my best friend in the whole world. So definitely more than gorgeous, and I’m so lucky to have him.”
Hyeji lets out an aw, and you smile shyly in turn. Jeongguk fucking owes you one. Big time.
“Oh, hello,” Eunha suddenly greets sweetly, and you hear the sound of paws before turning around and seeing Fenrir trot into the room.
Well, that means Jeongguk is probably also back inside, and that’s definitely your cue to break it up.
After another five minutes and a ton of comments and decor suggestions, your new friends have looked through the entire house, leaving only when you carefully work ‘still feeling tired’ into the conversation. They don’t appear too disappointed as they step outside, perhaps it has something to do with a shirtless Jeongguk giving them a wave as he passes them on his way to the kitchen.
Your blood is already boiling when you close the front door behind them. In vain, you spend twenty seconds trying to collect yourself, but you’re so incredibly angry. The whole point of having a house, shipping furniture to it, and pretending to live a happy little life in it is to be prepared to let people near you.
Yet, Jeongguk almost blew your entire cover and put you in incredible danger had you not saved the both of you. You’re just lucky they bought it.
With furious steps, you enter the kitchen, only to find Jeongguk leaning back against the counter with a glass of water in his hand. You get that it’s warm and that he was playing with Fenrir, but why does he always need to be shirtless?!
“You’re such a fucking idiot,” you hiss at him, still keeping a respectable distance. “Care to explain why you’d risk the entire operation–our fucking lives–with these?!”
Reaching into your pocket, you grab the handcuffs, throwing them at Jeongguk’s chest. Of course, he catches them.
“And your fucking baton?! Which I have no idea why you’d need now, and even less so why you’d leave out?!”
“I guess I forgot,” he shrugs, playing with the silvery cuffs in his veiny hand, “Sorry.”
“Are you for real?!” you question, his apology not exactly having simmered your anger. “Do you realize what could’ve happened if they suspected we’re fucking cops?!”
“Well, luckily, you managed to convince them that you want to be. Not that it took much.”
You glare at him, his words not clicking in your head but his face and the way he starts to smile arrogantly keeping your anger alive. You understand that he heard you, but what else?
“Fucking cops. Cops that are fucking, I mean. Want me to tie you up?” he places the glass down on the counter to take a step closer, eyeing you with disgusting confidence. “Cuff you to the bed?”
In response, you take a step back, feeling your stomach churn. The hottest layer of fury dwindles, and you’re left nearly speechless. “Besides stupid, you’re… you’re… vile,” you manage to say, “Try to touch me, and I’ll cut your hands off. And put a fucking shirt on.”
The rest of the afternoon and evening pass without much action. You don’t eat any of the cookies Eunha baked, but you do watch Jeongguk gobble them down without a single worry.
Funnily enough, you almost think he feels… bad… for fucking up earlier. You would’ve never guessed he had any sort of conscience, but you don’t know how else to explain his actions.
Why would he offer to walk Fenrir when he paws at the door after you’ve just let out a sigh–much less subtle than you thought–so tired you’re struggling to keep your eyes open?
Although still incredibly suspicious, you do let him, and you stand at the window of the bedroom as they leave for, according to Jeongguk, an hour’s walk.
You don’t like the bedroom, you don’t like the couch. Hell, you don’t feel at ease anywhere in the house, but as you’re left with it to yourself, and it’s your turn to spend the night in the living room, you take the opportunity.
Locking the door to the bedroom, you set an alarm for fifty minutes on your phone.
You make a phone call later that day, and the morning after, Jeongguk receives another, informing you that the moving truck is set to arrive at one p.m..
You’re not too excited–not at all, really–but it does bring some satisfaction to finally see Jeongguk struggle.
He skips his morning run, stating that he’ll take a rest day with only the exercise that hauling heavy stuff around provides. When the truck pulls up, he’s however still wearing his normal workout outfit, meaning–shirtless.
It does draw a roll of the eyes from you, but you feel like you can’t blame him too much; the sun really seems extra harsh today. When it comes to your own outfit, you’ve opted for a shorter light pink and flowy dress, held up by spaghetti straps. You try not to think of Jeongguk's opinion.
You stand back when the two men introduce themselves, letting Jeongguk do most of the talking, but when they open up the back of the truck, you’re happy to grab some brown boxes to carry inside.
Honestly, you have absolutely no idea what’s inside all these boxes, but at least they’re labeled by room to make it easier. The plan is to just carry them inside and procrastinate unpacking them for as long as possible, ideally until you’re done and there’s no longer a need to pretend anyway.
And although there are countless disadvantages to being a woman in this world, there is also at least one perk.
It turns out that both moving guys, Donggeun and Gaeul, are surprisingly… chivalrous. They’re also just regular movers and definitely not law enforcement. Gaeul works primarily from within the big truck, handing the boxes out, and you, Jeongguk, and Donggeun accept them to move them inside.
Well, as soon as Gaeul lifts a particularly heavy one–or just not one weighing basically nothing–he immediately counts you out.
If he’s there and ready, Donggeun is Gaeul’s first choice, and he only hands it to Jeongguk if his colleague is busy. More than once, you reach for a brown box, only to have it gently snatched from your hands with an ‘I’ll take that for you, miss.’
You don’t like being made to feel weak, especially not by men, but to be honest, today you don’t mind taking the backseat.
Still, you walk to and fro the house at least ten times, and you start to wonder if the chief and whoever coordinated the props miscalculated something because this many boxes truly is overkill. There are only so many things you do need for your short stay and only so many more to make your pretend life believable.
Despite making more runs than you, carrying a whole lot heavier things and sometimes two boxes at once, Jeongguk is clearly irritated whenever he misses his chance of taking a box from you to carry himself. Even more so when Donggeun beats him to it. Like you said, you don’t mind. Additionally, you don’t feel the threatening aura from either of the movers despite them being men, and you’re pretty sure both of them wear wedding bands. All men are shit, you know that, but evidently, some less so than others.
After having given you an appropriate-deemed box, only for Donggeun to return from the house and happily take it from you, Jeongguk calls for a break. By now, even if you hate the mere thought of it, you and your fake husband have gotten quite good at looks. Subtle glances, pointing gazes–it’s clear that your communication has improved, and you don’t miss his hint.
“Something to drink? That’s not water, I mean?” you clap your hands together smilingly as Gaeul runs his forearm across his sweaty forehead and Donggeun sighs tiredly. They both nod appreciatively, and so you turn, entering the house.
Rummaging through the cupboards, you find a big glass jug that you fill with raspberry lemonade. Jeongguk would’ve probably appreciated a cold beer, but honestly, Gaeul and Donggeun can’t drink on the job, and neither should he.
“Here you go,” you set the jug down on the little plastic garden table placed just inside the fence that’s already holding glasses and the guys’ water bottles. “I added some salt and a bit more sugar to restore fluid balance now that it’s so hot.”
You’re straightening up, wiping your hands on your dress when you feel a hand on your waist. There’s barely any time for you to react before you’re gently tugged into someone’s side and there’s a casual yet sweet kiss placed on your temple.
“Thank you, love.”
You’d be lying if you said his actions and low voice didn’t affect you, and it’s with warming cheeks and surprised eyes you glance up at him. But he’s already directed his focus elsewhere–onto the red liquid that admittedly looks very tempting–and as he’s moving away, his hand slips from your waist.
You breathe out. Man, you gotta get it together.
After twenty minutes and multiple denied offerings of cookies from your side, you get back at it. Well, Jeongguk and the others do; he tells you that he’s got it from here and that there aren’t that many boxes left.
So you carry the empty jug and glasses back in, pretending that you don’t hear one of the moving guys–you’re not sure who–call you a sweetheart.
The air conditioner does you good, and you take your time washing the glassware, leaving it to air dry before you find yourself standing in the middle of the living room, gazing out over the sea of brown cardboard boxes. You really hope you and Jeongguk can make enough progress in the next few days to finally go home and continue the investigation from there.
Still in your thoughts, you head toward the door to go back outside. As soon as you open it, you see Jeongguk approaching, his head turned back over his shoulder and seemingly also deep in thought as he watches the guys.
He only notices you when you’re a few steps out of the door, his gaze falling onto you, and there’s something in it that you can’t quite decipher. It’s not hate or disgust; those he appears to keep contained for the moment.
It happens very quickly after that. Without visible hesitation, he marches up to you, his hand already reaching for your face. Naturally, your heart bursts into an attack of some sort, and you’re just lucky he can’t feel your pulse and know how he makes your body react.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and it’s quiet enough that no one else hears, but clear enough that you do.
Your eyes widen. “I, uh, o–okay.”
He’s doing it for the mission, you’re aware. You just haven’t had the time to figure out exactly why. And at first, you have no intention of figuring his exact reasoning out because Jeon Jeongguk is already kissing you.
His hand that reached for your cheek travels to the back of your neck, and he uses it to pull you closer, his other hand finding your waist.
And you… you can’t even say that you hate it. Well, you hate how gentle he is, even when eager, and you hate how he smells nice despite being a bit sweaty. You loathe how soft his lips feel against yours as they kiss you sweetly, and how he tastes of raspberries. Additionally, it’s disgusting how firm and warm his skin is when you run your hands up his back.
Most of all, you hate how someone like him can dent all your walls and how a part of you actually wouldn’t mind kissing him for longer.
But eventually, the kiss does end.
“What are you doing?” you ask quietly, embarrassingly out of breath.
“Kissing my wife.”
You almost laugh at the absurdity, but also… you can’t be mad because he did ask and it was… probably the best kiss you’ve ever had.
It hits you then. Why he did it.
“...You’re jealous.”
Unsurprisingly, Jeongguk scoffs, “No, I’m not. I just think… you know, you don’t talk about someone else’s wife and be all nice.”
The last part he mutters as he turns his head away, and you can’t resist.
“Oh, you so are,” you chuckle, watching him. “So you’re the jealous type of husband. Who would’ve thought?”
Actually, it’s not that much of a surprise. Jeongguk is incredibly competitive, that you do know, and those features tend to correlate. He doesn’t like you in any way, but he still can’t handle other men giving you attention?
He rolls his eyes, “No, I'm just irritated that they don't think I can take care of you on my own.”
Now that wasn’t what you expected.
“I don’t need to be taken care of, though. I can carry some boxes. I may be a woman, but I’m not that weak.”
“I know. Even though you are pretty weak,” he smirks, but it’s less arrogant than usual when it’s only the two of you. “The thing is that you don’t need to.”
You curse your heart for… doing something, and to hide your… fluster…? you sidestep him. “I’m glad we’re not actually married,” you whisper, “You’d be a terrible husband.”
From behind you, you hear how he follows, “You’d be an even worse wife, though. Can’t cook for shit.”
But his insult doesn’t carry that usual bite, and you don’t feel that usual surge of anger. Maybe it has to do with the fact that you’re not alone–at least two witnesses not too far away–or that you still feel him on your lips.
The next day, you’re already up and about when Jeongguk goes for his morning jog, and you see him exit the front door with Fenrir and a shirt on. The former with your (reluctant) permission and the latter by what can only be a belated Christmas miracle.
Jeongguk seems to have taken a liking to Fenrir, which isn’t that weird considering the dog is an absolute angel, what’s weirder is that Fenrir likes him back.
Honestly, you don’t really know what you think of it, but a part of you definitely dislikes it. Fenrir’s supposed to have your back, but instead, he’s frolicking with the enemy while you’re working your ass off.
You knew that signing up to live undercover would entail doing a lot of things not directly tied to the operation, but just how much came as a bit of a surprise.
For instance, you hadn’t planned to be halfway through a recipe, flour on your cheek and a bit of egg white on the floor, but here you are.
Baking has never really been your thing, but you begrudgingly realize that you need to repay Eunha for her cookies and also simply for their generous welcoming. Okay, you probably don’t need to, but being perceived as friendly definitely won’t hurt you on your quest.
Besides, doing something might help you not think about the day before and how your fake husband’s body feels pressed against yours and under your hands. Or his lips. Your heart almost giving up. His scent–
So, after crawling way too far down Google in search of something you could make yourself and pass off as a family recipe without being called out by an avid baker, you’re taking the tray with cookies out of the oven.
Inspecting the round little things, you tilt your head. At least they look… homemade.
Fifteen minutes later, while you’re in the middle of cleaning up the mess you accidentally made, a sight you’ve unfortunately grown used to enters kitchen.
Jeongguk. Half naked and sweaty. And out of breath. You pretend not to notice him although definitely always keeping an eye on him. Of course, the shirt was just too good to be true as it appears to have vanished into thin air. If you had less self control, your eyes would be glued to the way his abs move with every labored breath.
“Oh, you’re… baking?”
“Yeah,” you pretend to look for something in a drawer, “thought it would show some friendliness and give us a reason to go over.”
“Good idea, but…”
You close the drawer and look up. “What?”
“Can you even bake?”
He moves before you can react, approaching the counter top, and it’s at the last second you manage to open your mouth.
“No, don’t, those are—”
“—Poisoned?”
“—Hot.”
He meets your eyes, and you’re faced with a horrid realization that changes absolutely everything.
Jeongguk lowers his hand, head turning and eyes spotting the cookies already gathered off a tray and onto a plate. “I guess I’ll have to volunteer as the guinea pig.”
You don’t stop him from biting into one of the cooled-off cookies, and when he tells you–after licking crumbs off his lips–that they’re not terrible, you’re not sure how to feel other than scared.
That feeling doesn’t go away, not even as you watch Jeongguk curiously sift through some of the brown boxes he didn't have time to yesterday, grinning in excitement as he finds some sort of “authentic samurai sword” to hang above the tv.
If baking and your realization had you scared, it’s nothing compared to delivering the cookies.
A few hours have passed since you took your creations out of the oven when you’re knocking on Eunha’s door. Behind you, Jeongguk stands, looking around absentmindedly with Fenrir’s leash in his hands. You’re stopping by to return the container with your own cookies inside as thanks before going on a walk together; that’s the story.
However, it’s not only Eunha that comes to the door, but also Hoseok. Instantly, your blood freezes. You haven’t spoken much to him, much less than you’re sure Jeongguk has, but there’s just something about the man.
You’ve seen him talk and laugh with his friends and wife, but in between those moments, he seems so… cold. Or… scheming.
“Hi!” you greet, happy to the best of your abilities, “we came to return the favor. And the container.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to,” Eunha assures but still takes the box from you, opening it to inspect the contents. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you, it was really sweet to bake for me. Actually, you’ve all been very sweet to us, so thank you.”
“No need to thank us,” Hoseok speaks from behind his wife, and your heart skips a beat. “Although if your go-to ‘thank you’ is cookies then I don’t mind.”
You laugh and so do Eunha. Even Jeongguk lets out a chuckle from behind you.
“So how are you? Not fighting, I hope?” she grins.
You blink at Eunha’s question. Why would she think you were fighting? What could she have seen? Or heard?
“I’m just wondering since it looks like someone’s sleeping on the couch.”
You gulp. Fuck.
<previous | next>
so what are your thoughts?? what do we think of jk?? 😅😀
Genre: smut, neighbors to lovers (not quite friends but not quite strangers), slow burn, love triangle, Stripper!AU
Rating: M (18+)
Warnings: new pov 👀, grinding, fingering, oral sex (m + f receiving), hand job, shower fun, mentions of roleplaying, mentions of biting (always get consent!), a bit of exhibitionism, lots of teasing, texting dirty photos, dirty talk, deepthroating, cum eating, but also a lot of cuddling because Jungkook is pretty whipped y'all and so is reader, Jungkook has to deal with a nasty drunk customer, 2021 AMAs Jungkook is the wedding visual
Word Count: 9.5k
Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me
Summary: That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!
A/N: Fuck, it’s been a while since I updated, huh? Sorry about that! I got busy with holiday fics, and then my life kinda fell apart for a while and writing was the last thing I had time for. And then I had a difficult time with this chapter because I’d decided the story was only going to be 15 chapters and I was trying too hard to wrap things up too quickly… so guess what? Paradise is not ending with chapter 15! I hope you’re still enjoying the story, because it’s gonna go on a bit longer. How long? I don’t know! We’ll find out together! 💕
Song lyrics are from "Notice Me" by SZA
Thanks to @minttangerines for taking a look at this one! Please don’t be a silent reader, I’d love to hear from you! Taglist is open. 💕
There’s little worse than a tiny machine whose only purpose is to violently jar you from peaceful sleep by means of unholy bleating and throw you directly into your day. Really, whoever invented the alarm clock had to be a sociopath.
These are the sleepy thoughts that run through Jungkook’s head as your alarm clock tears him from his sleep Friday morning. Eyes still closed, he feels you shifting beside him, and then there’s a slapping sound and the annoying beeping ceases. Your heavy sigh makes him smile.
“You know, I’ve always hated your alarm, too,” he mumbles, remembering your confession about his alarm the other night.
“It did not occur to me until this moment that you can hear that every day,” you admit, and he laughs, opening his eyes.
He presses himself forward against your back, burying his face in the nape of your neck to breathe you in. He can smell the faded sweat from last night’s multiple rounds where it still clings to your soft skin. It’s insane to him, how everything about you is wonderful, down to even the smell of your sweat. He hears you sigh again, a happy sound that makes his heart beat faster, and you scoot closer, threading your fingers through his.
“Mmmhmm,” Jungkook hums. “S’okay, I usually just fall back asleep. But I really hate it today, because it means you’re getting up, right?” Obviously you have to go to work. Or login or whatever it is you do with a work from home gig. He tightens his grip when you start to pull away, whining into your skin. “Noooo, don’t leave me.”
“Kookie!” you huff amusedly. He gives up when you persist, twisting yourself onto your side so you can peer at him while he pouts. Your fingers pinch his bottom lip playfully as you eye him, an exuberant grin on your face, and he wants to roll you onto your back and cover your face in kisses until you’re breathless with laughter.
You sigh again. “Does anyone ever say ‘no’ to this face?”
“Nope,” he lies gleefully, lips turning up in a smirk as your arms loop around his neck. “Don’t tell me you’re about to try. You can’t.”
“Actually, I was about to tell you that I hit the snooze button, so you’ve got me for at least another five minutes.” Lightly, you kiss him. He follows your mouth when you pull away to speak, so that you end up breathing the words onto his lips. “Better make them count.”
The delighted giggle you let out when he swiftly rolls you onto your back sends him to the moon. He brings himself back down to earth by covering your mouth and body with his own, his hands reaching for your thighs, prompting you to wrap your legs around him and keep him close.
He feels you start to squirm against him and takes the hint, easily flipping the two of you over so that you’re on top. “Shit, jagi,” he hisses as you roll your hips, grinding your core against his. He can feel how wet you are through where your cunt drags against his naked cock. You’re always so wet for him. He’s definitely getting a big head about it.
That damn alarm clock of yours goes off again, and you groan, sliding from Jungkook’s lap to reach for the machine. Jungkook remains tangled up in your sheets, one arm behind his head as you climb off the bed.
“You, uh, you don’t have to get up now, if you don’t want to. I know it’s early for you. I don’t mind if you want to sleep a little more here.”
He watches as you hurriedly drape yourself in a big t-shirt before turning back to face him. You’re so cute like this, when you get shy in front of him, as if he hasn’t seen every inch of you by now. As if he doesn’t want to see every inch of you. There’s nothing you need to hide from him.
But you seem a little more nervous than usual. Is it because he slept over? He hadn’t intended to, but after the third round last night, you’d fallen asleep on him yet again, this time literally, draped across him, with your head tucked against his neck, and he’d been too enamored to move you. Your soft breathing must’ve lulled him to sleep.
The offer to let him stay and sleep in is sweet, but he’s wide awake now. “Nah, I’m up.”
“Okay. Um, just take your time getting up, I guess.”
Jungkook can’t help but appreciate how awkward you’re being right now. Makes him feel better about his own clumsiness with stuff like this. He always over thinks things when it comes to relationships. Not that this is a relationship. Unless it is, but only if that’s what you want, too.
Shit. Prime example right there.
You’re slowly backing towards the door. Jungkook’s not sure if that’s because you don’t want to leave him or because you’re still trying to keep him from seeing your naked ass under that shirt. Seriously, how are you so cute?
“I’m gonna go shower.”
He can’t help himself. “Want some company?”
You bite your lip, contemplating, and he smirks. He’s not a betting man but he’s pretty sure he knows what your answer is going to be, so he rises from the bed, hard cock slapping against his stomach as he crosses the room. Once his arms are around you again, you sigh.
“I’m gonna be late, aren’t I?”
Jungkook grins cheekily. “Depends on how you want it.” His hands roam over your backside, squeezing the soft flesh there. It’s an understatement to say he’s a fan of your ass. He drops a smack on one cheek and you let out a cross between a yelp and a laugh.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Jeon Jungkook.”
Stealing your giggles away with a kiss, he shuffles the two of you towards your bathroom, only allowing you to break away long enough to turn on the water. Under the spray, he reclaims your mouth again with needy lips. An electric current runs through him every time you moan, and soon he has you pressing your palms into the tiled wall as he slides his fingers into you from behind.
Jungkook’s shy, but he’s not chaste. He’s never had trouble finding someone on the nights when he’s needed to lose himself in someone else. Especially once he started working at Paradise. At first, he’d tried to resist fucking his patrons. Didn’t want the lines to blur too much. But eventually, he caved, too easily flattered by the women throwing themselves at him - literally, some nights - too easily tempted by the pleasures they promised.
He’d go home with them and then slip out in the morning, before they woke. Never wanting more than just a memory. He lived this way for the longest time. It was easy, especially for someone like him, someone who used his onstage cockiness to hide his shyness. Required no real thought, no real effort - beyond, of course, what he gave in the bedroom. Or the shower. Or, more than once, in the car. He always made sure they were satisfied.
So he doesn’t lack experience. But being with you is like nothing he’s ever felt before. Maybe it’s the newness of this physical connection between you that is driving the way he wants you all the time. Like all the time. Or maybe it’s something else.
Whatever it is, he wants more than the memory of a wild night.
These thoughts swirl through his mind as he slams a hand on the wall right above yours, steading himself so he can thrust his other hand into you harder, faster. He tries to shut down the thinking part of his brain as he focuses on the moment, letting the sensations take over.
Slick skin slides against slick skin. The warm water rushing over you both gets in his eyes, his mouth as he drops to his knees, but he doesn’t care.
“Fuck, Kookie.”
Your words reverberate in the resonant space, a chorus of praise that fills the room. He’s the one kneeling, worshipping, but you’re the one praying. All he feels is you.
“Come on, baby, I know you’re close. Just let go.” He grabs at your waist, making you arch your back a little so your ass sticks out. Once you’re in the right position, he tilts his face up and licks along the wet slit where his fingers just were.
Jungkook loves eating pussy. He could spend hours between your legs, face buried in your sweetness, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you. It makes him feel almost powerful, knowing he can make you come apart so quickly. Confident, in a way he’s rarely known off the stage.
He feels that way now, even though he’s in a rather vulnerable position, crouching in your crowded little bathtub with your thighs on either side of his head. You could crush him with those, so easily. And he’d use his last gasping breath to thank you.
“Kookie, goddamn, that’s - ah - oh, that’s so good!” You press your cheek into the wall, trying to keep your balance as you push your hips back, seeking more of his hot mouth. “Please, oh fuck, please don’t stop!”
There’s no way he’d stop now. He hums into you, loving the way you shudder in response. As your hips begin to rock, dragging your cunt over his eager tongue, he brings his tattooed hand up to press into your clit, tracing tiny circles into the throbbing nub like he’s drawing a bullseye, aiming oh so carefully for the center.
You cry out so loudly when your climax hits. Jungkook feels his dick twitch just from the way you say his name. Before he’s finished licking you clean, you’re reaching for him, pulling him up to join you. He rises obediently as you wrap your hand around his aching cock and begin to stroke.
“Jagi,” he grunts, hips jerking erratically into your hand. His eyes fall shut. His mouth blindly finds yours, kissing you desperately as you twist and tug and then he’s painting both your stomachs with his hot seed before the warm water splashing over you washes it away.
He’s content to let you take the lead when you kiss him this time. Your hands slide into his hair, nails scraping the nape of his neck, and he groans, pulling you closer. He knows you should probably get moving or you’ll be late, but he doesn’t want to stop holding you, and it doesn’t seem like you want to let go, either.
Eventually, though, you climb out, handing Jungkook a towel while wrapping one around yourself. He wrings the water from his long locks before knotting the soft cotton around his waist as he follows you back into your bedroom. When you turn to look at him, something in your eyes makes his pulse race.
“What are your plans for today?”
Jungkook pulls his sweats back on as you throw on a loose shirt and some shorts. “Don’t really have any, other than work tonight.” He’d traded shifts with Bang Chan so he could have tomorrow night off to attend your friend’s wedding with you. Something he’s equally excited and nervous about, though he’s doing his damnedest trying not to show it.
He can tell from your stories and from the few times he’s seen you with your friends that you’re incredibly close. And he gets the vibe that your friends are pretty protective of you. Especially Jisoo. Jungkook finds her pretty intimidating. Even if both Taehyung and Jimin swear she’s a sweet little kitten. Hard to trust their judgment when they’re both so lovesick.
You’re still looking at him, though you seem deep in thought. Finally, you nod. “Okay. I’m taking today off, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, fuck it, I need a break from that place. And yesterday was so nice…” you shrug, playing with the drawstrings at your waist. “Maybe we could hang out again? Since you’re free?”
Jungkook’s starting to worry about the effect you have on his heart. Right now, it feels like it might just float straight out of his body and through the ceiling.
“I mean, if that’s what you want…” he replies, hoping his tone sounds calmer than he feels. How’s he supposed to play it cool when such a simple question makes him so happy like this?
You slide off the wall, stepping closer until you place your hands on his chest. “It’s what I want,” you confirm, brushing your lips against his. He feels you smile as he tries to deepen the kiss, but you dance away from his grasp. “Let me email my boss quick, and then I’m all yours.”
It’s amazing how much he wants that to be true. Jungkook watches you walk away, hips swaying, and it hits him suddenly - he’s fallen so, so hard for you.
Fuck. Whatever he does now, he can’t mess this up. Like he always does.
“Do you want some breakfast?” Your voice calls to him from your kitchen and he snaps out of his thoughts.He finds you rummaging through your cupboard, grabbing bowls and a box of cereal.
He munches away happily while you take a seat at your desk. “So you like working from home?” Jungkook loves dancing at Paradise, but he’s thought about camming a few times. It’d be nice to skip the commute. And the grabby customers.
“I fucking love it,” you answer, making him laugh. “I hate it when I have to go into the office. Everyone’s so loud there, all hopped up on stale coffee from the break room. Plus, I really hate having to abide by the dress code. I work better in joggers and comfy t-shirts, but some people aka my boss think that’s unacceptable.” You roll your eyes, scrolling through your email. “Ugh, I need to follow up on some of these. Shouldn’t take long.”
Jungkook tries to picture what you must look like at your office. He imagines you sitting behind a large desk, dressed in a smart suit, something like what he’s seen someone wearing in a movie, with a sharply tailored jacket clinging to your curves and a tight pencil skirt, maybe a little tighter than strictly necessary, and then his reverie shifts. Now you’re standing in front of your desk, palms pressing into the shiny surface as you bend over in that tight little skirt, and -
Wow, he needs to get a hold of himself. He lowers his bowl a little to cover the half-chub he’s sporting, and remembers something relating to suits. “Hey, for the wedding tomorrow - is it black tie?”
“Shit, I’m sorry, I really haven’t said much about the wedding, have I?” You twist in your chair to glance at him. “It’s not a super fancy ceremony. You can just wear, like, a nice suit, if you have one?”
“All my suits are tearaways.”
“Oh. Oh.” You blink as you realize what he means, and then he laughs. With your eyes wide like that, you kind of resemble a deer in headlights - an expression he’s come to adore, since he sees it frequently.
“That was a joke. I have normal suits.” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it. “It’s really too easy sometimes.” Flustering you is his favorite new hobby. He’s kinda proud of how good he is at it.
“Shut up.” You press your lips together in what looks like annoyance, but he knows you’re fighting back a laugh. He grabs your empty bowl, heading for the kitchen. “Anyway, about tomorrow, I’m gonna get ready with Jennie and the other girls, so I’ll meet you at the hotel before the ceremony. I did tell you where the wedding is, right?”
“You did. The Black Swan.”
Another reason Jungkook is rather nervous about tomorrow. The Black Swan is an expensive, high-end luxury hotel in the heart of downtown Seoul. Clearly your friends are doing pretty well if they can afford to get married at the hotel’s famous rooftop venue, overlooking the entire city. He bets they all have prestigious jobs or something, like lawyers and professors and doctors.
“Right! Okay, good, at least I told you that much. Sorry, my brain’s just been all over the place lately.”
He just hums sympathetically, lost in his own messy mind. Thinking about the rooftop makes him think of that night at Dionysus, when he’d gotten too drunk, sulking over the fact that you were on a date with someone else…
Oh shit. Jungkook pauses mid-pour of a second bowl of cereal. Are you still seeing that guy? It’s been a while since you’ve said anything about him. Seokjin. Kim Seokjin, the super successful chef. Jungkook had checked out his YouTube channel after seeing the two of you in the hallway that one time. The guy seemed to have it all - talent, good looks, and you in his arms.
But does he still have you? Does Jungkook, for that matter? Maybe he shouldn’t think in such terms. How can anyone really “have” anyone, anyway?
It’d be okay for him to ask you about Seokjin. Right? There was that whole competition or whatever… He closes his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts. Relax, dude, you’re spiraling.
“Oh shit!”
Jungkook pops his head out of the kitchen at your shout. “What? Is there another spider?”
“You’re not gonna let me live that down, are you?”
“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ before chomping down on another spoonful, crossing the space to stand beside you.
“Well, it’s nothing bad. My friend Wendy, the one I told you about, that I used to work with? She said someone quit unexpectedly and her company needs to hire someone immediately for some sort of new project, so she wants to know if I would be interested in coming in for an interview!”
You beam up at him, and he’s honestly not sure if it’s the sugar rush or just you, but he feels a little lightheaded as he grins back.
“Jagi! That’s great!”
“Yeah! It’s kinda amazing, actually. I feel like Wendy’s thrown me a life preserver.” You fall silent as you reread the email. Jungkook swallows as quietly as he can, not wanting to disturb your concentration. He notes your brow furrowing as the silence stretches on.
“Everything okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah! This is great! I just…” you trail off, still reading. He waits. “They want me to interview next week, which is… a little quick.”
“Ah,” he hums.
Could you be nervous? Although you’ve told him that you’re sick of your company, you strike him as someone who is incredibly surefooted when it comes to your career. It’s honestly pretty sexy. (As if everything about you isn’t sexy, right down to the way your fingers lightly caress the wheel of your mouse and goddamn it, he really needs to stop thinking with his cock.)
But then you bite your lip as your gaze meets his and he realizes that yes, you are nervous. And it’s a feeling he can understand.
“It doesn’t give me a lot of time to get myself ready. I mean, I’m thrilled that Wendy recommended me for the position, and I’m sure I could handle it, from what she’s saying, but... it’s been ages since I last interviewed for anything.”
Jungkook nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You glance at the computer screen again, and he’s overcome with the urge to do whatever he can to ease your mind. “I know it’s not the same, but when I was preparing for my audition at Paradise, I had Taehyung helping me out. Maybe I could do the same for you?” He lifts a shoulder. “Ask you some questions? Help you ease back into it.”
“Like… a fake interview or something?”
He nods. “If that would help.”
“Really?” Your tone is hopeful, making his heart buoyant again. “You wouldn’t mind?”
He’d have to search the internet for examples of things to ask you, since he doesn’t know the first thing about financial advising or whatever, but Jungkook feels pretty sure that he can do this for you. If you want him to. “Not at all.”
“That would… be really great, Kookie. Thank you.” This time when you smile, it’s a shy thing, and before he can think he’s bending down to kiss you gently. You giggle into it, eyelashes fluttering when he pulls away. “What was that for?”
He shrugs again, painfully aware that the tips of his ears are warming, turning red. “Nothing. How many more emails do you need to answer?”
“Um…” you stare at your laptop. “Let me just respond to Wendy and then I’m done.”
“Cool.” Jungkook stretches. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes roam over his bare torso as he does so. He smirks, enjoying when you look away, knowing you’ve been caught. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he lowers his mouth to your ear. “I’m gonna go home and take off these dirty clothes. Come find me when you’re done. I’ll be waiting.”
“Fuck,” is your breathy response. He laughs. You’re really too good for his ego. But before you can say or do anything else to inflate his head a little more, your phone rings.
Be still, my heaaaaart…
“Oh god, I bet that’s my boss, wanting to talk me out of taking off.” You frown as you check the screen. “Shit, it’s Jisoo. I gotta take this.”
Jungkook carries his bowl back into the kitchen, an excuse to give you a little privacy to talk to your friend. But he can still hear your half of the conversation anyway.
“Ji! What’s going on? Wait, what’s that sound? Is that Jennie? Is she crying?” A brief pause. “Okay, okay, I’m coming over! No, I’m not working today, I - it’s a long story, I’ll explain when I get there.”
Jungkook reemerges from the kitchen when he hears you say goodbye. “Is everything okay?” he asks again.
You shake your head. “I don’t know. Jisoo’s at Jennie’s, I need to get over there.” You move hurriedly down the hallway to your room. “I could hear Jennie crying in the background.”
“Jisoo didn’t say what happened?” Jungkook watches you dress, feeling helpless. You’re radiating with a nervous energy that makes him tap his fingers agitatedly against his thigh.
“No, all she said was that Jennie needs me.” You frown, staring into your closet. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t know what you’re apologizing to him for. “It’s all right. Your friends need you.” He grins when you put on his hoodie. It really does look better on you than him. “Don’t worry about me. Just text me later.”
“I will.” You give him a playful smile as his fingers grip at your hip, drawing you closer to him. “I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long.”
“Better not,” Jungkook murmurs, other hand clutching your chin to bring your mouth towards his.
You stay on my mind, I can't regret no times spent with you
And I still wonder if you notice me, yes
Jungkook tips his head, staring at the canvas in front of him. Music blares from his stereo and he sings along to it without thinking. It’s like breathing for him sometimes.
The portrait he’s working on is nearly finished, finally. It’s taken him a bit longer to do this one than usual. He’d like to blame that on being busy the last few weeks, but the truth is that he was having a hard time with the photo his patron provided. It’s not that he can’t paint from a static shot, but he prefers live models or being out in nature. He needs movement, light, even the sounds his subject makes help him to better capture them.
But he’s pretty happy with his progress on this one. He dips his brush into the mix of yellows on his palette, a sort of sunny shade that he’s using for highlights in the woman’s hair. The gentle tap-tap of his paintbrush against the canvas triggers a tingling sensation down the back of his scalp.
He doesn’t realize how long he’s been working until his phone buzzes and he glances at the screen. It’s a spam text, so he ignores it, but he’s shocked to see that it’s already past noon. It’s not completely surprising that he lost track of time - that’s usually what happens when he’s in the zone. Everything around him falls away until there’s nothing left but him and the canvas. He learned a long time ago to set timers for himself on the days he has work or other plans or else he’d never stop.
But it is a little surprising that he managed to stop thinking about you for a few hours. Not because he’s obsessed with you or anything, but because after he left your apartment this morning, he was too excited at the thought of another full day with you to do anything but think about you.
And as always, his excitement triggered an avalanche of questions. Just like this morning. What should the two of you do today? There was a new gallery on the east side of town that he’d been meaning to check out - would you want to go with him? He’d love to spend an afternoon just walking around with you, talking about art - or anything, really. Or maybe you’d rather just hang out at your place?
Or maybe you’d have wedding stuff you’d need to do? He remembered you said that you were the maid of honor. He didn’t quite know what that entailed but figured it was important. Your friend Jennie must really trust you. Made sense to him. You and him had only been doing this… dating… whatever that you had going on only for a short while and yet he felt like he could trust you with anything.
And speaking of dating, what about Seokjin? Were you still seeing him? You hadn’t mentioned him in a while. Jungkook wasn’t sure if that was because he had won the little competition, or if you just didn’t want to talk about Seokjin with him. He should probably ask.
Although… there was the other night, in the hallway at Paradise. When you’d asked him for a dance. Fuck, he wished he’d could’ve danced for you. He’d been working on a routine just for you… but that night, you’d pulled him close and confessed that you only wanted him. He wanted to believe it wasn’t the alcohol talking. That you’d meant it. But the thought of asking terrified him a little. What if you didn’t remember your own words?
His thoughts looped back around to the wedding again. There was this burning desire to impress your friends that was starting to worry him. He already knew which suit he was going to wear tomorrow, wanting to dress to kill. Maybe he’d ask Jimin to do his makeup - Jimin usually did his makeup at Paradise.
Any time Jungkook’s brain would get overwhelmed, he would slip into what his friends refer to as his “buffering mode.” He’d freeze in place, eyes wide but unseeing as he struggled to sort out his thoughts. This morning, Jungkook realized he’d gone into this mode again when smoke began to sting his nose and he snapped back to reality to discover that he’d burnt the fuck out of his kimchi eggs. Cursing, he threw the ruined second breakfast in the trash, and decided to put on some music and focus on his painting before he burnt down his apartment.
It worked. All those questions and worries melted away as he’d picked up his brush. But now the day’s half over and he hasn’t heard anything from you. He hopes that doesn’t mean anything bad.
His phone is still in his hand, staring up at him impassively. He debates for a few minutes, the desire to talk to you warring with the fear that he’ll come across as impatient or worse, needy, before finally putting the phone down.
He can keep waiting. The truth is, he’ll wait as long as it takes.
So he makes lunch. Checks his mail. Does a load of laundry. The time ticks by.
Until finally, his phone buzzes. He lunges across the pile of boxers he’s folding to grab it.
Jagiya (3:01): Kookie I’m so sorry!
Jagiya (3:01): I completely lost track of time
(3:02): it’s ok jagi
(3:02): everything all right?
It’s a few minutes before the dots on his screen disappear.
Jagiya (3:04): Yes but no but yes?
He has no idea what that’s supposed to mean.
Jagiya (3:04): I’ll tell you everything later, but right now, Jennie needs me
Jagiya (3:05): So I’m gonna be here a bit longer. Through dinner, at least
His heart sinks. Those little dots reappear.
Jagiya (3:06): I know we were gonna hang out. Can you forgive me?
(3:06): nothing to forgive
(3:07): do what you gotta do
His reply makes him cringe. It reads back as indifferent. What he meant to say was, you don’t need to apologize for being there for your friends. He understands. He panics a little, thumbs flying, wanting to show that he cares.
(3:07): is there anything i can do?
Jagiya (3:08): You’re so sweet 😘
His heart rebounds a little.
Jagiya (3:08): We’re okay here, thanks
Jagiya (3:09): But I guess I won’t see you before you leave for work
Jagiya (3:09): 😞
He can picture you wearing the same expression as the emoji you send. A sad little pout. He wants to kiss it away.
Like it is any other Friday, Paradise is packed. The club is always stuffed full on weekend nights with patrons wanting to toss off the stress of a hard week and slip into a world of fantasy. And it’s Jungkook’s job to give that to them. After finishing his second stage performance of the night, he makes his way back to the bar, where Jimin slides him a glass of water. Taehyung joins him.
“Two more Dick Suckers, please, Min.” Taehyung sets his tray on the bar. “Nice job with that last lapdance, Kook. Poor thing asked me what her name was when she got back to her seat.” A boxy smile splits his face. “Not my name, her name.”
Jungkook grins back. He’d been tapped to dance for a woman celebrating her divorce being finalized. At first, she’d refused to get up, but her friend, who had paid for it, had insisted that she needed to embrace her new freedom. Once on stage, she’d sat silently, slack-jawed, with her hands clasped tightly over her chest, until Jungkook finally took them and placed them on his ass. At which point she’d shrieked so loudly, he thought he’d ruptured an eardrum. After that, she didn’t stop screaming for a second.
“Thanks. Been choreographing that one for a while. Guess it works.” Jungkook tips back the rest of his water, wiping his forehead with his tattooed arm. “Is the air busted again? It’s hotter than fuck in here.” His entire torso is dripping with sweat, from the exertion of his performance, and the room feels stifling around him.
“It’s probably just Hoseok-hyung trying to save a buck again. I’ll talk to him,” Jimin replies, placing two bright blue drinks on Taehyung’s tray. “So what time do you want to stop by tomorrow?”
“What are you two doing?” Taehyung inquires.
“Nothing involving you,” Jimin shoots back. Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. “Taehyung’s not invited over to my place any more.”
“I said I was sorry,” the other man drawls. “I mean it.”
“Sure you do.” Jimin runs a hand through his pink hair as he rolls his eyes.
“Do I want to know?” Jungkook asks.
Taehyung sighs. “After work last night, Jisoo and the two of us were hanging out at Jimin’s and someone,” he flicks his dark eyes towards the bartender, “didn’t appreciate my commitment to the scene we were playing.”
“The scene you were… ah, shit, is this some roleplaying stuff?” Jungkook knows his friends are into roleplaying. Mostly because they spend a large amount of time working out the details of said scenes. Usually in the form of very annoying arguments.
“Look, I can’t help it if I get too deep into character, okay? That’s what you’re supposed to do! Make it feel real!”
“Vampires aren’t real, Tae!” Jimin hisses. “But the bite you left on my ass sure is!” He looks at Jungkook. “I’m going to go find Hoseok. Watch the bar, will you? And just text me tomorrow, I’ll be home all morning.” He glares at Taehyung. “Alone!”
Taehyung sniffs as Jimin disappears towards the back of the club. “He’s just jealous because my vamp was more believable than his werewolf.”
Jungkook slips behind the bar, shaking his head. “He seems pretty mad, hyung.”
“He’ll get over it. He usually likes biting. I think my choice of location caught him by surprise.”
Taehyung wanders off to deliver the drinks to his waiting patrons. The bar gets a little busy while he’s gone, with Jungkook struggling a bit to keep up with the orders coming in. When Taehyung returns, he heads straight for the other side of the bar, to give Jungkook a hand.
“So what are you and Jimin doing tomorrow? I thought you were going to the wedding with YN.”
“I am. He’s just helping me get ready, that’s all.”
Taehyung smiles at a patron as he hands her an Adios Motherfucker. “Careful with that, sweetheart, it’s strong.” He looks at Jungkook. “Hair and makeup?”
“Yeah.” With the smooth flick of a wrist, Jungkook finishes another drink, handing it off with a wink. The DJ calls Namjoon to the stage and the crowd at the bar disperses as another performance begins. Jungkook grabs a towel and starts mopping the counter. He’s a serviceable bartender but he’s pretty messy.
“Mmm.” Taehyung leans back, watching Jungkook clean. He folds his arms over his bare chest. “Kook-ah. There’s no reason to be nervous.”
Jungkook doesn’t even ask how he knows, replacing some bottles on the wall behind the bar. “I just want to make a good impression.”
“You think you won’t?”
Jungkook gazes at the mirror behind the racks of bottles. Wide eyes stare back. He can’t put his fears into words, struggling as usual to communicate what has him so worried. It’s just a feeling, one that’s been growing all day, the more he thinks about the wedding. That you and your friends are from another world, one where everyone is self-assured and in control of their lives. And he’s just out here, barely floating by.
“I’m just making sure I do.” He pauses, finally looking at Taehyung. He sees Jimin approaching out of the corner of his eye. “I really like her, hyung. I-I think this could be something.”
“Awww, Jungkook-ah!” Jimin coos, pinching Jungkook’s cheeks. “Our little Jungkookie’s in love!”
“Hyung, stop.” Jungkook smacks his hands away. As the youngest of his group of friends, Jungkook’s used to being babied by his friends. He hates it. “I didn’t say - it’s not - “
“Kook-ah.” Taehyung places a hand on both of Jungkook’s shoulders, turning him to face him. “What am I always telling you?”
Jungkook sucks in a deep breath, huffs it back out. “Confidence.” He feels a little ridiculous doing this here, behind the bar where patrons can see him getting a motivational speech from his hyungs. But sometimes he needs it.
“That’s right.” Taehyung squeezes his shoulders reassuringly. “Just be confident. You know who you are. And who you are is amazing.”
“Hyung….” Jungkook is thankful that the pink lighting of the bar hides the deepening blush of his cheeks. Taehyung has been trying to bolster his confidence since the day they met, all those years ago in art school. He always appreciates it, but sometimes the man can get a little cheesy.
“Hey pretty boy!”
A loud voice disrupts the moment. All three men turn to find a woman leaning over the bar. She’s clearly drunk, head propped on her hand as she smiles at Jungkook. Her head bobs a little as she sways.
Jungkook recognizes her. The divorcée from earlier. “Can I help you, ahjumma?”
She curls her finger, beckoning him closer. He leans towards her, careful to still maintain his distance. Drunken patrons have been known to try to get handsy with the dancers.
“I wan’ a private dance,” she demands, words slurring a bit.
Jungkook glances at Taehyung and Jimin. They appear to be on the same page as he is, based on their furrowed brows and pursed lips. She’s too drunk. Where is her friend?
“I believe all of our private rooms are busy at the moment. Can I get you some water while you wait?” Jimin doesn’t wait for an answer as he places a glass in front of her. She just waves him off.
“Not talking to you. Talking to him.” She points at Jungkook, grinning. Her smile turns Jungkook’s stomach a little. It’s cold. “I want a private dance. If I can’t have it here, maybe I could have it later? At my place?”
Jungkook’s own smile feels tight. “I’m sorry, I don’t do private dances outside of the club.”
She tilts forward, and Jungkook can smell the alcohol wafting off her. “Come on, pretty boy, I’ll pay. I have,” she hiccups, covering her mouth, “I have so much money.”
“It’s not a matter of money.” Jungkook scans the floor behind her. Seriously, where the hell is this woman’s friend? Should they call her a ride?
The woman scoffs at Jungkook’s response. “Oh, come on, of course it is! That’s why you’re here, right? You dance, I give you money. It’s your job, honey.”
Jimin and Taehyung are having a hushed conversation next to him, but Jungkook isn’t listening. He knows it’s pointless to try to reason with this customer, and yet he keeps trying.
“It’s not my job. My job is to dance here. Not in private.” He knows what she wants, but he’s not for sale. He used to give it away for free, but he never took money or gifts. But even if he did sex work, he’s not going home with her. Especially not if she refuses to accept it when he says no. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll call you a ride? We’ll make sure you get home safely.”
She seems to finally realize that she’s not going to get her way, and her demeanor changes, countenance warping into an ugly sneer. “Don’t you con-condescend to me! You’re just a pretty boy with a hot body. Good for nothing but a quick fuck.”
Even though it’s obvious that this woman is totally wasted, her words sting anyway, like a slap in the face. Jungkook recoils slightly, drawing back from the bar.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Taehyung announces, sliding out from under the bar. “Let’s sit down, shall we?” But as he moves towards the woman, they hear another voice calling out.
“Oh my god, there you are!” It’s the woman’s friend, looking frazzled as she runs up to the bar. “I’m sorry, I thought she’d be okay while I ran to the bathroom. I got back to our table and people next to me said she’d stolen some shots from their table and wandered off!”
“Well, that explains it,” Taehyung frowns. “I think you should take your friend home.”
“I will. I’m so sorry, I hope she hasn’t been any trouble. She hasn’t been this drunk in years!” She wraps an arm around the divorcée’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
The three men watch silently as the woman’s friend steers her towards the door, taking a wobbly path due to her friend’s intoxication. After a moment, Jungkook feels his friends’ eyes on him, but he keeps focused on the two women until they reach the entrance.
“She was drunk, Kook,” Taehyung murmurs. Again, Jungkook doesn’t even need to ask how he knows what he was thinking.
“I know.”
“Don’t let her get to you,” Jimin says in a gentle tone. He lightly pats Jungkook’s arm. “I’ve got the bar covered. Why don’t you go take a break?”
The locker room is empty when Jungkook enters. He pauses in front of a mirror for a moment, taking the time to wipe away where his eye makeup has smudged from the humidity in the club. He knows that woman was drunk. He knows this. And yet, her words have fed directly into his fears.
What if he’s not enough? What if all he’s good for is, as those words rattling around in his head angrily declare, “a quick fuck?”
The drunken woman’s expression while he’d danced for her reminded him of the night he’d danced for your friend Jennie. The way you’d looked at him, like you were seeing him for the first time. How he’d liked it. How, when he told his friends that the neighbor he’d been crushing on for months had shown up, he’d been encouraged to try and make a move. Ugh, that clumsy first attempt at flirting, using your shower - the memory makes his ears turn red. He’d stolen that idea from some cheesy movie he’d seen. But it worked, hadn’t it? It led to here. To whatever the two of you were now.
If only he knew what that was.
Suddenly, he needs to talk to you. He rummages through his bag until he finds his phone, grinning when he sees there’s a message waiting for him.
Jagiya (11:05): Hope you’re having a good night 😚
(11:53): it’s better now
(11:53): you still up?
He doesn’t have to wait long.
Jagiya (11:54): I’m here
He presses the call button.
“Hey Kookie.” Your voice is so warm, equal parts sleepy and surprised. He imagines you’re lying in bed, can picture the way you looked this morning. Wishes he were there.
“Hey Jagi.” He leans back against his locker, closing his eyes. “Is it okay that I called?”
“Of course,” you laugh. “What’s up?”
“Not much. I just… wanted to hear your voice.” He didn’t mean to say that. But it’s the truth.
You hum, this sweet, soft sound that fills his chest with a happy buzzing. “You okay?”
“I’m okay. Just a long night.” He’ll tell you another time about what happened. He’d rather not relive it right now. “Is everything all right for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, Jennie’s good, and everything’s still set for the wedding. I really can’t wait, it’s gonna be amazing.”
“I can’t wait, either,” Jungkook admits.
There’s nothing but the gentle sound of your breathing on the other end of the line for a few seconds, and then you ask, “Do you, um, want a sneak peek at my outfit for tomorrow? I took a picture earlier when I was trying it on.”
“Sure.” He’s not going to turn down the chance to see your beautiful smile right now.
The image that you send him a few seconds later takes his breath away.
There’s no bridesmaid gown in sight. Instead, sheer white lace covers your body, the delicate fabric flowing from your breasts down your torso to your hips in a tight-fitting strapless one-piece. Around your waist is a snug garter belt, straps extending down your thighs to where they fasten to silk stockings. And the expression on your face nearly makes him whimper. You’ve one of your hands raised to your mouth, pointer finger dragging your bottom lip down as the edge of your pink tongue licks the tip.
All the blood in his body rushes south. As he stares at his phone, unable to blink, Jungkook exhales loudly.
“Fuck.”
You laugh again. “Do you like it?”
“Jagi, I - “ Words fail him. You’re gorgeous, every inch of you. “I love it. Fuck, you’re so sexy.”
More giggles. “Noooo, I’m not, stop. I wasn’t planning on wearing this under my dress originally, but I remembered I’d bought it months ago when Jisoo and I were out day drinking and shopping and I - I don’t know.” The words come out in a rush, like you’re embarrassed. “I just want to look good for you, Kookie.”
Fuck. Why’s he gotta be at work right now? He palms over his erection, wondering if he has the time to lock himself in a bathroom stall and take care of it. While telling you exactly what he wants to do to you in that lingerie tomorrow.
“You always look so good, baby,” he groans, voice a little husky. “I can’t wait to see this in person. Was it expensive?”
“No, I don’t think so? I don’t really remember. Did I mention the drunkenness?”
“Good. Then you don’t mind if it gets a little ripped?” Jungkook grins at your tiny inhale at his words. “Because after the wedding, I’m gonna-”
“Hey Kook-ah, you in here?” Hoseok pokes his head into the locker room. “Ah, there you are. Come on, you and Taehyung are up.”
“Be out in a minute, hyung,” Jungkook nods and the other man leaves. He sighs into the phone. “Shit. I’m sorry, jagiya, but I gotta get back out there.”
“Wait! Aren’t you going to finish your thought? You can’t leave me hanging like this!” There’s a playfulness to your tone that makes his already hard cock ache. He’s going to have to go stand under an ice-cold shower for a minute before getting back into costume for his double routine with Taehyung.
“Oh, baby, trust me, you don’t have to worry. You’ll be taken care of. When I see you tomorrow.” Jungkook smirks at his reflection when you whine in his ear.
“Fine.” You sound wounded. “Guess I’ll see you.”
“You will. Night, jagi.”
“G’night, Kookie.” With a final exasperated sigh, you hang up.
Before he puts his phone back into his bag, it buzzes again. Another photo of you, this time just your face, wearing the saddest pout. The message makes him laugh.
Jagiya (12:04): You’re such a tease
He fires off a response, then heads towards the showers, chuckling to himself the whole time
There’s not a single cloud in the sky as Jungkook steers his motorcycle down the busy city streets Saturday afternoon. He can see the Black Swan towering over the other highrises as he draws nearer. He tries to ignore the nerves in his stomach, but the swirling is impossible to ignore the closer he gets.
By the time he’s in the elevator, rising to where the ceremony is being held, the swirling has become a maelstrom. He breathes through his mouth, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It’s gonna be fine. He just needs to walk out there with confidence, like Taehyung said. He can do this. Just pretend like he’s on stage. Too bad there won’t be any actual dancing until the reception. That’s when he feels the most at ease.
The elevator dings as it arrives at the rooftop. When the doors part, his eyes widen, taking in the gorgeous scenery before him. The elevator opens directly into a lush garden, with flowering bushes and potted maple trees dotting the grounds. To his right, a mirrored wall reflects the greenery, making the open space feel even larger. The reception venue is on the other side of the mirrored wall, but the ceremony will be held in the gardens.
Chairs have been arranged in rows on either side of a strip of green grass, cut low for the bridal party to walk down. At the end of the green pathway is an arch-shaped trellis covered with flowering vines and tiny string lights. And as his eyes adjust to the brilliant sunlight, he recognizes the group of women talking in front of the arch.
Your dress is identical to the ones worn by the three women standing by you, but he barely acknowledges this fact, too busy focusing on you and you alone. The lavender-colored silk hugs your curves, a small slit cut right at your left knee to reveal the stockings beneath. He tries not to think about what’s holding those stockings up. The straps of the dress rest just off your shoulders, snug against the soft skin there.
You’ve opted for a fresh-faced natural look, with light makeup just highlighting your features. There’s a pink mugunghwa flower tucked behind your right ear, matching the simple bouquet in your hands. You’re a summer dream, blinding Jungkook with your radiant beauty.
The tumult in his stomach stills more the longer he admires you.
He pauses at the edge of the pathway, unsure if he should disturb you and your friends. But Jisoo makes the decision for him, as she turns and catches him watching you. She purses her lips, a loud wolf whistle piercing the air.
“Holy shit, Bambi’s looking fine!”
The rest of the group jumps as she grins, pointing to Jungkook. When your gaze meets his, he feels a jolt of electricity. He smirks, emboldened by your eyes on him, and strikes a pose, one hand in the pocket of his charcoal grey suit, cinched tight at his waist with a thick belt. Jimin had swept Jungkook’s hair off his face, showing off his eyebrow piercing, and did an impeccable job with his makeup. Jungkook knows he looks good.
The expression on your face confirms it.
As the other girls start whooping in agreement with Jisoo, he takes the opportunity to tease you a little, strutting down the grass pathway like he’s working the stage. He can tell it’s working when you glance away from the heat of his gaze, biting your lip to suppress a grin, before giving in and beaming widely at him.
“Hey,” you say.
“Hey,” he replies, matching your smile. “You look beautiful, jagi.”
There’s some cackling from the other girls, but he ignores it, lost in your eyes. Until Jisoo’s hand appears in front of his face, snapping her fingers.
“Hi, hello, you two can continue this after the ceremony, okay? Jennie will kill you if we start late because you were too busy eye-fucking at the altar.”
“Ji!” you hiss as the other girls continue to giggle. “Koo- uh, Jungkook, you remember Jisoo, I’m sure.” He nods, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter. “And this is Lisa and Rosé.”
“Nice to see you again,” Rosé greets him.
“Thanks, you too,” he replies, and then his mind goes blank. Thankfully, you save him from having to make small talk, looping your arm through his. You hand your bouquet to Lisa.
“Have you seen the setup for the reception? It’s incredible.” And you start to tug him down the pathway, away from your friends.
“Remember, we’re starting in half an hour!” Lisa calls after you.
Jungkook can’t quite make out what Jisoo says next, but it has the others laughing loudly, and he hears you mumble something about “unhinged freaks,” under your breath. You lead him through the double doors in the mirrored wall, into the rooftop restaurant that’s been converted into a reception space. But before he can get a good look at the room, you’re guiding him out of it and down a hallway.
“Uh… wasn’t that the room?”
“Oh, that was just to get you away from my friends before they said or did anything else to humiliate me.” You glance at him, and his heart skips a beat when he sees the heat in your eyes. “I’ve got something else in mind.”
You stop in front of a door, ushering him inside. The men’s room, he quickly realizes, fingers locked in yours as you pull him into a stall.
“Jagi? What - “
That’s as much as he gets out before you throw your arms around his neck and crush his mouth to yours. There’s an urgent hunger in your kiss that he immediately responds to, sliding his hands along the smooth silk of your dress to hold you close. But just as suddenly as you kissed him, you’re breaking away, dropping to your knees.
Oh shit. He goes from half-mast and confused to fully erect and excited in a matter of seconds, staring down at you as your fingers make short work of his button and fly.
“I missed you last night,” you inform him, swiftly yanking his pants down.
“Jagi,” he breathes, almost lightheaded with want as you nuzzle your face against the outline of his cock through his boxer briefs. It’s strangely sweet and filthy all at once. “Missed you too.”
“And even though you left me so… unsatisfied… last night,” you continue, fingernails lightly scratching up his thighs, sending a shiver down his spine, “and you are the one who promised me that I’d be taken care of today, seeing you in this suit…” As you trail off, you slide Jungkook’s boxers to the ground. He springs forth, bobbing so close to your mouth that he can feel your hot breath.
“You like the suit?” he blurts out, earning himself a sweet giggle. Fuck, how are you being so cute right now while you’re this close to his dick? You stare up at him, all innocent doe eyes and angelic smile, and Jungkook thinks that he’d give you the world right now if you asked him to.
“Can I show you how much I like it?”
He nods vigorously, and you curl a hand around his cock as you suck the tip into your mouth.
“Mmmmph,” he moans, pressing his lips together to stifle the sound. Anyone could walk in here at any moment. Even though you’ve hiked your gown up, clutching the hem in one hand to keep it from trailing out of the stall and getting dirty, it’s pretty fucking obvious that there’s someone on their knees in here, sucking the life out of Jungkook’s dick.
Your mouth is perfect, so warm and wet and tight around his thick length. His hips jerk forward when you hollow your cheeks. He’s going to come embarrassingly fast, he just knows it.
“Baby,” he rasps when you swirl your tongue around the head, coating him in more saliva. His own tongue pokes through his teeth as he tries his best not to whine loudly. “Fuck, you’re making such a mess.”
You pop off him to inspect his cock. It’s covered in your lipstick. “Oops. Sorry about that.” You swallow him back down, mouth working in tandem with your hand to stroke him off.
“S’okay,” he murmurs, left hand clutching the top of the stall wall so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. “I-I like it messy.”
He twitches in your mouth when you hum at his words. Shit, he’s definitely going to come.
“Jagi, I can’t hold out, ‘m gonna, ah shit!” You take him as deep as you can, choking around him, and he understands what you’re telling him, that it’s okay, that you want him to come down your throat, and with that realization he’s gone, flooding your mouth as he bites down on his tattooed hand to muffle his contented groan.
You take everything he has to give, gulping it down so lewdly that he grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet so he can kiss you fervently, not caring if he can taste himself on your tongue.
“You’re amazing,” he whispers against your lips, cupping your face with both hands. You merely sigh, high and sweet, mouth brushing his, laughing as you gently push him away.
“I better get back out there,” you say, straightening your dress. The flower behind your ear has slipped a little, and Jungkook reaches out to fix it for you. You smile gratefully, pressing one last peck to his cheek. “Give it a few minutes before you come out, okay?”
He nods, but stops you before you can unlock the stall. “I’m still going to take care of you later, you know.”
“I know,” you grin, and then you slip out the door.
Jungkook takes a minute to clean himself up. It almost seems a shame to wash the lipstick off, but he decides he’ll just ask you to put more on later. God, he can’t wait to get you alone tonight.
Before he leaves the bathroom, he checks the mirror to make sure he doesn’t look as wrecked as he feels. His earlier jitters have completely disappeared. He feels as confident as he looks. He can do this.
And then Jungkook emerges from the bathroom, and his world tilts a bit. Because there, standing at the other end, with his arms slung around your back, is Kim Seokjin.
summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you’d win, other times you’d lose. Sometimes he’d lose, other times he’d win. But you’d both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.
pairing:jungkook x fem!reader
rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut
word count: 27.1K
chapter summary: The trials and tribulations of agreeing to be Jeon Jungkook’s doubles partner hit you all at once.
warnings/notes: typos probably, poem mentioned: you fit into me by margaret atwood, explicit language, reader’s walls coming down?, possible partners in crime, is this their friendship arc?, jungkook and his secrets, uh oh wooshik caught trying to make moves on reader, jungkook is so jealous, perilla leaf!jk really comes out, he has no chill, what jk wants he gets, kinda sub jk, soft dom reader, light nipple play, oral (m. receiving), deep throating, throat fucking, taint licking bc he deserves the pampering, shower sex, jk has a slutty waist, reader loves it, heavy making out, they’re kinda like…soft, they’re kind of in their friends with benefits (just kidding they’re in denial and in love) era because it’s me and i love drama, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3
My partner is an immigrant from the UK and still holds his citizenship. At a recent event, an acquaintance talked about how many “immigrants” get jobs over “Canadians” and they shouldn’t allowed to be management (which my partner is). My partner reaches across the table and goes “Hi, immigrant here!” and she goes “Oh I didn’t mean immigrants like you…” And you can so tell they just mean “brown people” or “Asian people” but they pretend it’s about jobs and shit.
That’s the same with my family. We were war immigrants from the soviet union and now live in Germany. Now the syrians are here because they also have war, and people keep asking me why I’m defending them so mercilessly. And when I tell them that my family (that is still alive) has gone through the same bullshit. But they insist that both scenarios are completely different. They’re not different, you’re just racist.
Fun fact, sesame street was created to fill the gap in education for children whose families could not afford to send them to preschool. Sesame street taught basic math and phonics as well as interpersonal skills so that children below the poverty line weren’t starting elementary school behind their more privileged classmates.
Here sesame street is trying to fill a gap where supportive adults should be. Where there should be a teacher or a family member or a counselor to help, for whatever reason, there isn’t, so Sesame Street is stepping in.
This breed of person has always hated Sesame Street. They hated it for showing black and white children playing together. They hated it for giving children of color the head start that rich white families were paying for. They hated it for Bert and Ernie for showing two MEN who LIVED TOGETHER, for the married black nurse who lived on sesame street when it was first released, and for them explaining death. I feel like there was a pregnancy at some point in its early days and they would have REALLY hated that.
These days they don’t (usually) say “I’m not letting my kid watch anything with black kids in it” but they sure throw a tantrum in the youtube comments when Sesame Street DARES to show an autistic girl playing with non-autistic children and being treated like shes anyone else. They lose their shit when Sesame Street has to explain incarceration to 5 year olds. And the muppet in south africa with HIV? Hoo boy.
They hate everything Sesame Street stands for and tries to provide. They always have. We just have to ignore them and keep supporting the show. Or tell them to shut the fuck up and keep supporting the show. Either way Sesame Street will outlive them.
BIG NEWS IN TEXAS!!!!! Over the 10-day early voting period 4 MILLION votes were cast! This is 84% of the total votes casted in the 2014 midterms!!! Oh, and Beto O’Rourke is now even with Ted Cruz in the polls so get out and VOTE BETO FOR U.S. SENATE ON TUESDAY!!!!!!!!
Ten years ago, director Catherine Hardwicke grossed more than any woman ever had at the box office. She was thanked with a cupcake—and sexist Hollywood labels that hurt her career.
On the 10 year anniversary of Twilight, director Catherine Hardwicke reflects back on her hit film. With an opening weekend of just over $69 million, the film went on to earn $192 million in the U.S. alone, at the time a record breaking sum for a film directed by a woman.
Hardwicke’s description of Summit’s reaction to the financial success of the film:
When I went in I saw that there were massive bouquets and balloons and bottles of wine, and crazy gifts sent to them by all the distributors around the world or whoever, all their friends. So I actually had it in my mind, wow, this is a pretty unprecedented success. I had heard these rumors that when a director does something like this they give them a car, they give them a two-picture deal or something like that. They give them an office and ask them what they want to do after this.
And then I got a mini cupcake that day. I was like oh, OK, cool—coming in here, I’m sort of working for free, doing this online stuff, and that was what I was offered: a mini cupcake.
So I came home from work today and there was a kindle addressed to me that I did not remember ordering. I spent the afternoon trying to figure out how I accidentally purchased a kindle from Amazon, and when I came back from hanging out with Catherine, I told my parents, guys, you will not believe what I accidentally ordered for myself.
“Huh,” said Dad very casually. “Did you get charged for it?”
I spent the next five minutes checking my bank account and came back into the living room to announce, “No, I didn’t. Do you think it’s a mistake? But it has my name on it! what does this mean”
It was around the time that I started to sound panicked that Dad confessed to buying it for me (“I didn’t realize the mystery of it would be so terrifying”). Which was very, very sweet and slightly unfortunate because yesterday I purchased a replacement kindle for myself.
Me and Mom were talking about the kindle this morning, and she told me about how a few weeks ago, she got into her car only to discover that it had been mysteriously cleaned.
“But who would do this?” she said to my father who said he was sure he had no idea. “A student? A stranger? Someone who broke into my car to steal it but felt bad about how dirty it was? WHO??”
Eventually Dad was like, “Honey. It was clearly me.”
Poor Dad just wants to be a man who expresses his love through silent actions, but his family consists of panicked, suspicious women who apparently are very sure that strangers will ominously do nice things for us
Okay can we please not pretend that fucking Lindsey Graham is anyone that cares about decency and fairness. His outburst today was clearly orchestrated in order to make people forget about the powerful testimony that Dr. Christine Blasey Ford gave today. It’s sickening
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